


When the Lights Faded

by Mister_Whimsy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Apocalypse, Armageddon, Demons, Disasters, End of the World, Eventual Romance, F/M, Mystery, Post-Apocalypse, Psychological Drama, Rapture, Suspense, Thriller, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 158,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4408688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mister_Whimsy/pseuds/Mister_Whimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say it was something that could've been foreseen.  But who could say they could've foreseen the end, these walking abominations of our madness? How can you stop what is meant to be? The Fall was our folly and now the price of our existence is blood. For cities were emptying, countries collapsing and all left in wail in despair from the anguished screams of the Damned. For when the lights faded, when the last gleam of the sun had set, all that was left was nothing but death to be repaid. Now we pray for the sun to rise again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Call

**Author's Note:**

> "When the lights faded, all that was left was nothing but death to be repaid."
> 
> Thank you very much for reading and supporting this narrative. Please leave comments with feedback and if you enjoy this story then please favorite and follow it for updates.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sloppy, carefree and tomboyish NYPD Officer Morgan and her partner expected a quiet morning shift. But when shots are called in from Central Park's Tennis Center, their day becomes much more complicated.

Here is character art for the main protagonist, Morgan that I drew.[ **Here's the link.**](http://nonsensedrawing.deviantart.com/art/When-the-Lights-Faded-Morgan-585700462)

 

_"If the gods listened to the prayers of men, all humankind would quickly perish since they constantly pray for many evils to befall one another."― Epicurus_

* * *

I still remember those words my dad told me as I reached for the door handle to greet the taxi. It was a phrase that on its own would mean little. But at that moment in time, with all that had happened, it was devastating. It was just before I left home for college. I didn’t dwell much on the subject at the time. But as I looked back, it made me wonder. Why was so little said between us? It was strange. When I looked in my dad's eyes veiled by his large spectacles that day, I could tell that they were filled with a sadness seeing as it was goodbye. When my mom passed away when I was in junior high, he changed. The energy and smiles were gone; the barbecues and fishing trips were delayed indefinitely. Dishes piled up and the garden my mom tended was left to overgrow. Yet only after his passing that summer, as only a country yokel living in the big city could know, did I finally realize what my dad did for me all these years. I still remember what he said to me. Sitting in his old armchair, he murmured with a sullen voice.

"I guess some things we can't change, Morgan. They just happen by chance."

And even now, eight years after his passing, his words still spoke to me. The lingering regrets, the unspoken appreciation, the sadness in his normally stoic face, they still lingered in my thoughts. Whenever I thought about it, I wish that we—I wish I could have taken back what I said to him, too. I try not to think about it too much. Too many distractions from my work, my coworkers would say. Like I didn’t already have enough? But it was nearing the end of May and the coming of summer always brought that final memory, those words that broke mountains.

I sighed as I lit the cigarette in my fingers. Inhaling the smooth acid smoke, I looked out the car window beside me. My car was parked on the side of this small wooded street. My view from the driver seat was of the towering trees of this particularly wooded neighborhood and of the brick city homes. It was beautiful this time, neither night nor day. The sparkle of the rooftops had yet to come and so the world was dyed a blue-violet as it awaited the dawning sun across the waters to eased the reluctance of the day. A slight tinge of orange had begun to creep up in the east but it was still dark outside, like viewing the world with blue-tinted glasses. I gave a quick, content huff as I turned back to exhale the ghostly veil of cheap corner store menthol smoke.

Fate was strange, but coincidence, now that was even stranger when I thought about it. They called it coincidence or luck that incredible things just happen. Some say it’s just chance that such things occur. Others still say it’s fate, His will that spawns these miracles of our lives. And if I was asked which I would be, I would fall within the former. Let it be known that it was not the faults in our stars that made the world move. Would they have said differently if a tragedy befell them? But of course, He works in mysterious ways, doesn't he? I'm sure the devil does, too.

Shaking the thought away, I groaned in discomfort as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Sometimes I wondered why I even became a cop. Long hours, ‘occasionally’ dangerous working environments, reports, oh the reports, there was just so much work and I didn’t want to bother even doing it half the time. Taking another drag, I looked over my shoulder to my briefcase and gym bag on the backseat. I turned back to the front of the car, finishing my cigarette and snuffing it out in the ashtray. Then the silence was abated as I heard my name being called out from beyond the passenger seat window of the car. Turning, I recognized the equally tired but friendly face. It was my partner Marcus emerging from his front door. Unlocking the passenger door, the man slipped in.

"Sorry for taking so long," he said. "Tasha held me up again."

I looked him over, nodding at his business casual attire. Then I looked down at my dollar store sandals, gray sweats and food stained shirt and tittered at the contrast. I looked myself in the mirror. I still had bed hair.

"She does realize ya gonna change out of that soon as we get to the station, right?"

Nodding, he exhaled. "She worries too much.”

I smiled before spotting the brown paper bag in his hand.

"And she packed ya a lunch, again?"

"Breakfast," he corrected. "Two, count them, two breakfast sandwiches and an ice coffee."

"Lucky," I remarked, clicking my tongue. "I'm way too lazy to make myself somethin’ like that."

"This?" Marcus replied. "Morgan, I've seen you threaten the poor interns to make cup noodles for you."

"So? They're gettin’ valuable experience for the workin’ world," I justified, flashing a carefree grin.

"Morgan this is why you're still single," he laughed.

I made a small grin.

"I dunno what’cha talkin’ ‘bout," I said, slyly. "I could get any man eatin’ out the palm of my hand. Like that.”

I snapped my fingers.

"Right. You're so amazing,” he praised, sarcastically. “that's why you said you've never had a boyfriend before, huh?"

"They just can't handle this," I dismissed with a scoff. “Won’t even approach me out of fear of rejection.”

He laughed.

"Anyway, you want them?" He offered, taking the coffee out of the bag. "I don't really do breakfast."

I nodded and took the bag opening one of the paper-wrapped sandwiches, I was met with the aroma of bacon and cheese. Biting down on the steaming hot biscuit sandwich, I hummed. I could feel warmth flood to my cheeks.

"Oh, this is nice," I smiled, blissfully. "And these are homemade?"

"Yeah they are."

"Hmm, good," I said before sinking into the seat, taking another bite. "Lucky."

Swallowing a mouthful of sandwich, I sighed in bliss. "What time is it?"

"Five thirty-eight," Marcus said, looking over his watch.

"We still have time to get to the station," I remarked, finishing the biscuit.

"Let me finish this first, I don't want to spill it," Marcus said, motioning to his coffee.

"Alright then. I'll warm up the engine again."

After a few minutes, Marcus was finished and the engine had warmed up again.

"You good?" I asked.

“Ah huh,” he nodded. “You're not going to eat the other one?"

"Eh, I think I'll save it for later. Not!" I said, stuffing the other sandwich into my mouth. “Well, I'm full now.”

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to eat less, Morgan," he said. “You can’t just expect to keep riding the coattails of your track days.”

"I'm already livin' a healthy, productive existence, my compatriot," I said, facetiously trying to sound smart. “And besides, I work out regularly. Check out this midriff, tight and firm like it should be.”

I lifted my shirt, exposing my belly. "See?”

“Have some modesty, Morgan,” he sighed. “What if someone saw?”

“Oh, and check it out. I got a treadmill at home for cardio, too.”

"Says the smoker," he retorted.

"Says the married man," I smiled, waving my eyebrows.

"And who's fault was that?"

"Hey, I didn't expect Tasha to like you back," I said, defensively. “That date I set up was a complete fluke."

He grunted in acknowledgement, probably at the distant memory that cemented our friendship. I chuckled, putting the car back into drive, I drew into the empty street. Heading down the road, I turned on the radio.

_As the world prepares for the next FIFA World Cup, controversy in regard to—_

_Morning everybody, I'm your host Tom Schooner here on Morning Watch. Now before we report the forecast, let's take a brief look at the weather from last—_

_In local news, a Brooklyn teenager has died in New York Methodist Hospital this morning from gunshot wounds sustained late, last night in Crown Heights. According to police it may be gang related—_

_Now for today, over New York City and East New Jersey we are seeing sunny skies for the next—_

_And I am urging all of you back home to give this product a try. For those of you suffering from irregularity, Herb Blast will surely—_

_Con todos mis hijos menos el de atras tras, tras, tras tras… Será melón, será sandía—_

_Qatar once again may face crippling sanctions in regard to its support for the rebels in the ongoing Saudi Civil War. Meanwhile, with the peace negotiations between the Arab league, the UN, the Caliphate of Najd and the surviving Saudi government stalemating after months of intense negotiations, the President of the United States has vowed—_

_Sweet home Alabam—_

_Investors have projected the cost for gas to rise in the United States back to four dollars per gallon by the end of this month—_

_China faces harsh criticism over recent reports of the mass euthanization of dogs in the Guangdong and Hunan Provinces. The animal right's group PATHS or People for Animal Trust and Husbandry Society has vehemently denounced the actions of the Chinese government and has called for 'swift and radical action'. The Chinese government has countered these claims of animal cruelty stating public health as justification—_

I turned off the radio. There was nothing to listen to anyway. Turning onto Central Park West, we headed north. It was pretty early and the cars were still at a manageable level. The sidewalks were starting to fill and businesses were opening up. Passing a van, I turned briefly to Marcus. His face was relaxed and downcast as if in thought. He leaned against the window. I turned back as we came to an intersection.

"What's the matter Marcus?" I asked. “Ya look awfully quiet."

I could feel he was turning to me. I kept my gaze on the road.

"Nothing, I'm just tired."

"Bullshit," I scoffed, jokingly. "We've been partners for years, Marcus. I know when somethin's wrong with ya. Now spill it.”

He sighed, tiredly pinching the bridge between his nose. "I got a call from my in-laws,"

I groaned in sympathetic pain.

"Uh, what now?" I half laughed.

"Typical in-law garbage," he said. "Nothing worth mentioning."

"I see," I said. "They're still mad that their well-to-do lawyer daughter married a no good beat cop?"

"Yup," he said, exhaustively.

I smiled. "Well, I'll bet work will be a nice distraction. I doubt we'll have much to do today. July Fourth won't be here for a while."

"I guess so."

Reaching another intersection, I turned to Marcus.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Five fifty-two," he said, checking his phone. “We better hurry."

Nodding, I turned back to the road. "Bein' late never hurt anyone."

"I don't want to get chewed out by Patterson again because of you."

"Don't worry," I flicked my wrist. "That old fart bag ain't got the balls to try that on you again."

He sighed. "He's not the one I'm worried about,”

I could tell he was looking at me with those eyes of his, the same gaze a disappointed parent would to their child. I chuckled to myself. Turning right onto Eighty-fifth Transverse, we entered Central Park. Down the street with the trees lining the way, we approached the Central Park Precinct Police Station, a former horse stable. Humming, my heart relaxed as I slowed towards my spot.

Pulling into my spot beside a large oak, I set the car to park and turned off the engine. Getting out and grabbing my bag and briefcase from the backseat, we headed to the main door. A few stragglers were heading there as well. Stepping through the glass doors, I breathed in the quiet atmosphere. For a police station, Central Park was one of the more quiet of the precincts. We had crime in the park at a manageable level which itself was quite low. We had plenty of officers and volunteers. The desks were neat and organized with reasonable sized reports. Men and women dressed from suits to the uniform blues were casually pacing back and forth through the main atrium. There must have been fifty or more people here. It was orderly and nice.

Crossing the bustling room and turning down the hall to our office, I turned to Marcus.

"Looks like everyone's doin' well," I noted.

"Well, we're lucky we got day.”

I nodded in agreement. Then we continued down the hall, passing our fellow officers and the occasional 'suit'. Spotting a bowl by the window of an office, I snatched a donut.

"Didn't you say in the car—"

"That I was full? Yeah, so?"

"You eat too much," he said in passing.

"And you eat too little. You're a man ain'tcha? Ain'tcha?" I asked. "You’s gotta be strong to protect little old me from the big baddies."

I fluttered my eyes to add effect and held my hands together. He threw me a bemused look as he walked on ahead of me.

“C’mon Gorilla,” he said.

I laughed as I filled my mouth with the donut, bounding down the hall to catch up to him. Turning, we reached our little office room. It wasn’t much, barely more than the size of a small bedroom with two desks next to each other with a gap in between. There was also a filing cabinet and a house plant by the door and an old tv on a ledge in the upper corner of the right side nearest to the door coming in but beyond that it was pretty bare. Entering the pale peach of the room, I sighed as I fell into my cushioned chair. My desk was a mess by anyone's standards. It looked like the Himalayas with the white paper peaks. I placed my briefcase on one of the piles and dropped my gym bag by my feet.

"Ah, work," I sighed, dreamily. "Oh, how I don't miss you."

I saw in the corner of my eye Marcus shake his head before heading out to the men's locker room down the hall. Returning after a few minutes, I noticed he had changed his uniform.

"Come on Morgan. Get changed, the Lieutenant's waiting for us."

I sighed.

"Can't Patterson wait?" I asked, discomforted. "C’mon, I just sat down."

"Morgan," he pressed.

"Fine," I said, mockingly. "Always the goodie two shoes."

"Just because I actually care about being professional at my job doesn't make me a 'goodie two shoes', Morgan."

"Yeah, yeah. I got it," I waved him off.

Getting up, I went to the women's locker room in the opposite direction of the men's. There were a few other women in the room, mostly the nighters getting ready to go home. I exchanged waves to them and a smile before heading to my locker in a secluded corner of the room. Putting my gym bag and my other belongings into the locker, I exchanged my civies for the blue patrol uniform, tucking my patrol cap beneath my armpit. It was rather form fitting. Tying my shoulder-length hair into a ponytail, I turn myself to the wall mirror. I deflated, hunching my back. I looked like a damn kid that had just gotten out of bed. My tousled black hair was unkempt and dull as was my gray eyes which were in their natural bored and uninterested half-lidded position. I put my hand on the top of my head to measure its distance from the ground. I frowned. Puberty must have skipped out on me. While it worked out in certain important areas, my height wasn't one of them. I guess this was why they assigned me to a six foot-three giant like Marcus. Even the other ladies were taller than me, those cow-chested jerks. I looked down at my own chest then back up. I still had my figure from my college track days so it couldn't be my body that was the problem. I looked closer at myself in the mirror. I wiped crumbs from my lips and the smudges of jam and bacon grease on my face. I chuckled disparagingly to myself that died quickly. Maybe this was why. Exhaling, I painted a smile on my face which quickly vanished. I exited the room and returned to the office where Marcus was waiting by the threshold of the door.

"There, are you happy?"

"Come on, the squad's waiting."

I followed him. Entering one of the side board rooms, I was met by several other officers and good old Patterson in all his uniform white glory. He nodded to Marcus and glared at me before continuing what he was saying before we interrupted.

"Taylor and Carlson, you got North Woods, Rogers and Gonzales, you two are on West Drive. Sanchez, Roberts, you two have Ninety-seventh Transverse and East Meadow. Wong and Damon, you guys got North Meadow and a Hundred and Second Crossing. And lastly—" he said, shooting a pointed glare at me. "Simpson, take the monkey and patrol East Drive and take a look at Harlem Meer, too."

"Yes sir," Marcus said.

"Ooga, ooga!" I grunted, wiggling my arms.

The others laughed, all except Patterson.

"You know what I said, Morgan," he growled.

I stuck out my tongue.

"Dumb kid," he sighed.

He then turned back to the rest of us. Marcus karate chopped me in the head to stop my monkeying around as he spoke. I squeaked at the blow. As I stopped, I saw Sanchez turn to me. I tensed up as he looked me in the eye feeling a little self-conscious all of a sudden.

“Haha, always there to make my mornings, eh Morgan?” Sanchez laughed.

I fidgeted, looking down at my feet and shyly laughing, rubbing the back of my head. I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Ehehe, yeah,” I said. “Yup, that’s me, haha.”

He smiled, patting me on the head.

I gasped at the sudden contact and flushed, looking down at my feet as he ruffled my hair. I muttered.

“Huh? What was that Morgan?”

“N—Nothin', nothin' at all.”

He cocked his head in confusion. It was then that I noticed Marcus sneaking an amused glance at me.

"Alright, everyone dismissed,” Patterson said. “Make sure you keep your radios on, too. And keep on your toes."

Exiting the room, I headed back to my locker.

"Hey Morgan, where are you going?" Marcus asked.

" I forgot my gun!" I shouted back.

"Seriously?" He groaned.

Waved him off, I ran back into to the locker room. I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against the locker. My hands were outstretched to brace against the metal. I was panting and red-faced. Come on, Morgan, get it together. Why was I still acting like an idiot around him?

_I’m sorry, it’d be weird for me, ya’know? You’re like one of the guys._

“Argh, dammit.”

I hit my head against the metal and groaned, calming down. I exhaled, sharply. Looking up, I unlocked the locker. I pulled out my piece, a Glock twenty-six, a nice little subcompact for my 'small' size. Holstering my pistol, I grabbed two magazines. Placing them into my belt pouches, I took my comb and combed my bangs to the side partially covering my left eye for a final time and put on my patrol cap. Walking back to Marcus, we headed back down the hall to the atrium. On the way, I grabbed another donut to Marcus's ire. Crossed the now quieted atrium and headed to the parking lot, we exchanged a few glances. After a few moments, Marcus broke the silence.

"Monkey?" Marcus asked, chuckling. "That's new."

I did not speak. I was too busy angrily chewing on my donut.

"It's fitting," he continued, laughing.

"Hah?" I gawked, crumbs falling from my full mouth. "It's as fittin' as that damn wig on his head."

Marcus continued to laugh as he walked, I stomped, out of the parking lot. We walked down Eighty-fifth then onto East Drive, the eastern main road running the length of the park. Walking past the main reservoir to our left with the trees on both sides of the asphalt road, I began to grow tired and with it my attitude grew sour. It must have been twenty minutes since we left the station. Despite all the training and being lean, I was still growing tired and in need of a bench break.

"God, it's hot today!"

"Morgan it's like seventy degrees right now," Marcus pointed out. "Besides, it's only seven o'clock."

"Still, this uniform is chafin' me. Why the fuck is mine so tight while everyone else’s got comfy ones?”

"It's probably because we need some eye candy around here,” he teased.

“Then why is it that I’m still ‘one of the guys?’ It’s fine with the squad but I’d like to have at least someone say I was pretty. I’m still a girl, ya’know?”

“Maybe if you acted less like a fumbling gorilla someone would.”

“I ain't no gorilla. I’m freakishly hairless as it is.”

“Then quit complaining. Oh, and too much information,” he said. “Morgan, I know you’re not the kind of girl that changes herself for anyone. You’ll find someone, eventually. When I’m a grandpa.”

He whispered that last part.

“Ass hat,” I joked.

‘C’mon, we should have been on Ninety-seventh already."

"Wah, wah," I mocked cried, wiping my eyes for imaginary tears.

"Monkey," he smirked.

"Baldie."

"It's shaven," he said, half-defensively. "Besides Tasha thinks it's nice."

"Whipped," I uttered.

"You're just jealous of my good looks."

"Yeah, you're like the chocolate prince."

"Hey that's racist," he laughed.

"And I'm the monkey, so what else is new," I said, joining in his laughter.

Passing onto Ninety-seventh Transverse and past a group of high school runners, we continued on, passing by East Meadow. As we made our way halfway past East Meadow, I spotted Sanchez and Roberts heading from up the road from the Meadow towards Ninety-seventh behind us. I waved and they responded the same.

"Yahoo! Sanchez, Roberts, what's up?"

"Nothing much," Sanchez smiled. "We just swept East Meadow."

"See anything?" Marcus asked.

"Nah, nothing but a few homeless we had to escort out." Roberts said.

"I bet Patterson would have arrested them if he was there," I sneered in passing.

"Patterson's been on your case lately, huh? What's down?" Sanchez asked.

"Eh, he's just jerking off to the memories of his army days," I groaned, motioning the lewd act. "Too much nostalgia ordering mooks like us around."

They rolled their eyes.

"Maybe he has a thing for shorties like you," Roberts joked.

“No way, that old fat bag?” I waved off. “He looks like he's more into them old Russian babushkas."

"Haha, but seriously, Morgan. If you took your job more serious, I’m sure he’d lighten up," Roberts said. "You've been here almost as long as me. We're not mall cops; were NYPD officers."

"You got to start acting like one," Sanchez added. “A police officer’s a leadership position. You can’t just lean on Marcus all the time.”

"Hah? I didn't come for another lecture," I huffed, turning away. "And since when did I ever lean on him. There’s nothing wrong with the way I run my operation."

"Stubborn, eh Sanchez?" Roberts said.

I could practically hear him smirk.

"Uh huh, she's not acting very cute," Sanchez said, jokingly.

He patted my head and I made a token resistance. My cheeks flushed. I felt like a dog being rewarded. I did not like it. Furrowing my eyebrows and pushed the tip of my nose up, I made an ugly face as I turned back to them.

"Tell me I'm pretty," I groaned, stumbling around like a gorilla.

They laughed.

"You're such a kid, Morgan."

"Come on Marcus, we should have been at the Meer by now," I said.

I saw Marcus nod to them, apologetically.

"Sorry about that you guys. It's just that time of the month, you know?"

"Eh? I'll show you that time of the month!" I growled, pulling up my sleeves in a mock threat.

"Ew, you'll show it?" Marcus joked, faking disgust.

Sanchez and Roberts laughed.

"Haha, alright see you two later at Maoz, alright?" Roberts said.

"Maoz again? What am I a cow? I'm tired of eatin' grass."

"It's kale, Morgan."

"Ooga ooga, me eat meat," I said, mimicking a caveman. "Meat good for Morgan."

Sanchez chuckled.

“I’m sure. Then how about Bawarchi?" He suggested.

"I think I'll bleed curry if I go there one more time this month," I joked. “I’ll come up with somethin'.”

"Morgan's always the final say, huh?" Sanchez said.

"I guess so," Marcus chimed in.

"Do you want to go anywhere then or did Tasha pack you a lunch?" I teased.

"Well, um, you see—"

"What!" Roberts shouted in amusement. "Are you serious Marcus?"

"Marcus," Sanchez pleaded, placing his hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Please tell me that she didn't."

I made a stupid and satisfied grin as we leaned forward towards the sweating man.

Sighing, he lowered his head. "Yes."

"What?!" I shouted, laughing hysterically. "Oh my god, Marcus."

I could not help my grin widening.

"She insists okay!" He said, defensively. "You don't live with her. You have no idea what she’s capable of."

We all looked stupefied at the sweating man.

Sanchez squatted on the ground, unable to contain himself. Then Roberts began rubbing his shoulders and cooing. "Honey, it's okay. I'll eat your lunch.”

"Really, you really mean that?" Sanchez asked, faking a woman's voice.

I swear I thought I saw sparkles around Sanchez and flowers in the background. What was with this aura?

"Why yes, I will. For I, Marcus Simpson am your whipped and neutered husband with no vestige of self-respect."

If I had been drinking milk, I would have squirted it from my nose. I laid sprawled on the asphalt, laughing my lungs out.

"Shut up!" Marcus boomed, his brown face flushed a soft pink.

"Eh? Even Marcus can make that face? Interesting," Sanchez gasped, a devilish grin forming on his face.

"Sorry Marcus. We were just having a little—hahaha," Roberts broke down.

"Come on Morgan. We should have been at the Meer by now," Marcus snorted, walking robotically down the road towards our post.

"See you guys at the station for lunch," I said.

"Can't wait to see Marcus's," Roberts laughed.

"See you later," Sanchez said, waving me goodbye as he and Roberts headed down Ninety-seventh street.

I turned back and pranced back to Marcus' side. He had already walked a good hundred feet ahead.

"Hehe, come on Marcus," I urged. "It was only a joke."

"I don't like being teased, especially by those two," he said, still rosy cheeked.

"Ah, I see."

"Come on, we better hurry."

"Right. Yessir!" I saluted, goofily.

We continued on towards our designated patrol area. East Drive was getting more active as we went along. Runners and cyclists passed us by as they went. As we entered the loop around the Ravine, we cut through the grass and trees. Reaching the Nutter's battery by the Meer, we settled down on a bench by the old cobble wall of the monument. Slouching down onto the worn bench, I deflated.

"God, finally we're here," I exhaled. “Time for a break.”

I pulled out a candy bar and began munching.

"We still have to patrol the Meer.”

"Do I have to? I don't like exertin' more energy than is absolutely required, Marcus.”

He flashed me a scowl.

"You're an officer, Morgan."

"Have you been lookin' at the rest of the Precinct lately?"

He grunted in acknowledgement.

"I get your point but still."

"I assure you, beneath all this body armor and my less than ladylike qualities and habits is a more than qualified cop."

"You sure don't act like one," he joked.

I huffed in protest, chewing the candy bar before unhooking my water bottle from my belt. Taking a gulp, I sighed.

"I just don't see the point in doin' more than is absolutely needed," I answered.

"We're cops, Morgan. It's our duty to go beyond the call."

I had heard this lecture before.

"Sounds like you drank the Kool-Aid," I sighed, leaning my head against the wood frame. “Again.”

I gazed up to the bluing sky and inhaled.

"I still believe those words, Morgan," he said, turning to me.

His face was serious and unmoving. I looked down to my feet to avoid his gaze. I could tell he was still looking at me, waiting a response.

"Really?" I asked.

"On my honor, I will never betray my badge, my integrity, my character or the public trust. I will always have the courage to hold myself and others accountable for our actions. I will always uphold the Constitution, my community, and the agency I serve," he recited.

"Ya honestly still believe that crap?"

"Yeah, I do. And you should to."

"Like all the others?"

He did not respond.

"Today's goin' to be bothersome," I said, dropping the subject. "I can feel it. There's no wind today. I hope our air conditioner works."

I turned and saw Marcus checking his phone.

"It's Eight-forty-two," he said.

"Only another eight hours," I groaned.

"Come on," he said, standing up from the bench. "We better start patrolling the Meer."

I nodded. Standing up, I followed Marcus down the battlement to the water's edge. We then started walking down the dirt path around the large watering hole. About ten minutes into our patrol, my radio went off. The crackling rang as I turned the dial. The voice on the radio was scrambled and unintelligible.

"Ten-nine. Repeat message, over," I said, speaking into the shoulder-mounted microphone.

I turned one of the nobs to clear the signal.

"Ten-nine. Repeat. Over."

"Ten-ten, we have a report of a possible crime. Possible shots fired," the voice on the radio calmly said.

"Copy Ten-four," I said. "Ten-seven, please verify location, over."

"Ten-six, over."

I exhaled my breath while I remained on standby, awaited the radio operator to verify the location. Just my luck. Just when things were quiet and I was calm, things got stirred up again.

"This had better be damn serious," I told Marcus.

He turned to me.

"Come on, let's get walking. We might be called up."

I nodded.

"Operator, ten-twenty, the location? Over."

"Ten-four. Ninety-seventh Transverse, Central Park Tennis Center."

"That's where Sanchez and Roberts are," Marcus said.

My heart began to pick up speed. Shots fired? Was Sanchez and Roberts in danger? I needed to know.

"Ten-one O-three. What is patrol Four-SR status?"

We waited for a response. After a minute of two of agonizing silence, the radio suddenly crackled alive.

"Ten-thirty-five, major crime alert! I repeat. We have a ten-thirty-five, high level emergency at Central Park Tennis Center! Received a report of a ten-thirty-two, I repeat ten-thirty-two. Gunman reported in the Central Park Tennis Center. Reports of multiple casualties and an officer down. Officer on scene requesting assistance, ten-seventy-eight. All available units, ten-thirteen, over."

Officer down? Was—oh my god, they were in trouble. Sanchez, Roberts, one them was injured or worse. My heart raced as I turned to Marcus.

"Morgan come on! That's us!" Marcus shouted, his face equally as serious.

“Ah, right,” I nodded, following him.

Pulling the microphone to my mouth, we ran as quickly as we could back down East Drive towards Ninety-seventh. The Tennis Center was just over half a mile down the road. It was across the large reservoir from the police station.

"Ten-four, Patrol Four-MS reportin'. Ten-seventy-six, officers en route from Harlem Meer down East Drive, over,” I said.

"Copy that Officer Morgan, Officers Lockhart and Officer Thomas are heading to location from West Drive and West Nineteenth street."

"Ten-four."

I clipped my radio to my belt and turned to Marcus running beside me. Joggers and runners were zipped pass by us, their faces grave as the sound of crackling gunfire overhead broke the tranquil morning. I looked at Marcus; he looked at me. We both had the same face. Today was going to be a long one. And so we ran to the crackling sounds of an unknown carnage in the distance.


	2. The Quiet Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Officer Morgan and her partner Marcus arrive at the scene, tragedy befalls the precinct that leaves Morgan unsure of how to deal with her feelings of the whole event.

**** My lungs were on fire. The inside of my mouth had dried up like a prune and my throat was painfully sore as I tried to swallow. It was miserable. Thank goodness I didn’t have to take a shit right now or else this would’ve been horrendous. Thinking of that at least made my body feel a little less stressed. But then a pain in my leg surged back up to my brain. When it did, all relief vanished with pulsing pain. My leg had cramped up since we passed the Conservatory Garden a good quarter of a mile back up East Drive. I was tired; my feet and calves ached. The weather while still cool might as well have been a hundred degrees. I was swimming in my uniform; the fabric clung to my body and began to itch in sporadic places. We were nearing East Meadow when the radio crackled with activity once again. I unclasped the microphone from my shoulder and held it to my mouth. My voice was raspy as I spoke.

“Ten-sixty-one. Officers Morgan and Simpson in the vicinity of the Tennis Center comin’ southbound from East Meadow!” I said. “Check fire! Over.”

“Ten-four,” the radio operator acknowledged. “Officers Lockhart and Thomas approaching northbound from West Drive.”

“Copy that,” I said. "Out!”

Clipping my microphone back to my shoulder, I turned to Marcus. He held his gaze forward; he was quiet and tense. Marcus looked focused on one thing and one thing only, it seemed. I could only surmise it was where we were going. My mind grew blank as we reached Ninety-seventh. To our right, down a diverging path from Ninety-seventh was the tennis courts and the center. Marcus motioned to the side path. We then headed down the tree-shrouded path. As we quickly approached, we saw the orange bricks of the Tennis Center and the high green chain fence of the tennis courts.

“Marcus?” I asked, my voice low and unsteady.

“What?” He replied, wheezing.

“Do you think Sanchez and Roberts are okay?”

“We don’t know if it was even them that engaged,” he said, his tone uncertain and grave. “Just stay focus.”

“Right,” I nodded, nervously turning back to the front.

We slowed down as we neared the brick building of the Tennis Center. We crouched and slowed our pace down the path. The trees were covering our approach and the road was sloping downward so the gentle hill was covering us. We could hear shouting and murmurs from the tennis courts. Then another shot and screams erupted. It sounded like Sanchez’s. Shit, I thought. Motherfucking shit! Something horrible was happening to them. I felt adrenaline me rush through me. We had to do something. Marcus must have seen my impulsiveness beginning to form for he took me by the elbow to stop me.

“Stay focused, we can't help them if we get shot, too.”

I was about to speak but then I stopped myself. I nodded, reluctantly. My impulsive side really wanted to just rush in but something in the back of my neck just told me not to. Was I scared? No way. But the fear of losing—I shook my head and gripped the yellow smiley face button on my right breast pocket tightly. This couldn’t end like this.

Reaching the entrance of the center, I pressed myself against the brick, hugging it closely. I drew my sidearm and switched the safety off. Marcus did the same on the other side of the double doors. He turned to me and mouthed that the lobby itself was clear. I nodded and slowly opened the glass door. My weapon was drawn and my eyes darted from left to right as I slowly inched forward. I kept my back to the wall to have a full view of the lobby. It was empty. People’s belongings lay strewn across the floor and papers lay scattered. It was as if a tornado came through. Marcus hid behind one of the four pillars of the lobby, covering my three o’clock as I watch his nine. Checking both side changing rooms, we turned our attention to the broken glass of the doors leading to the tennis courts. They had been shot out and shattered. I tried my best to avoid the glass but the earsplitting crunching was unavoidable. I hoped the gunman didn’t hear us. I wrenched every step I took until I felt my shoulder make contact with the threshold of the door. Marcus was opposite of me again. His face was tense and beads of sweat poured down his face. His exposed forearms were tense as he held his pistol to the ground. He signaled with his hands that he had made visual contact and as I peered slightly past the wall, so did I.

In the middle of the first tennis court directly in front of us, we saw the ghastly scene. The gunman was standing still in the center of it all. His back was to us, holding what appeared to be a gun in one hand and a chain incense burner in the other. To my surprise and most certainly Marcus’s, he was wearing black and flowing priest garbs, Catholic I think, or maybe Greek Orthodox, judging from the hat he was wearing. I didn't know. This priest had shot these people. What the hell was going on? In a school circle, I saw a dozen or so bodies. Their heads were bloodied and they laid still on their backs. From the position of their legs, they must have been cross legged or sitting before they were shot. They were killed execution-style from their sickening wounds. Blood and brain matter drenched the rubber turf. And the stench, it was horrendous. The victims must have voided their bowels when they died. That wasn’t uncommon from what I had read. My stomach turned as my eyes wandered to the nearest victim. It was a woman in her thirties, her face was bloodied and from where she fell, it looked as if she was staring right at me. A gaping hole was in the center of her forehead. It was the size of a walnut and went straight through her head. Her eyes were wide and rolled in the back of their sockets. Slick, metallic blood oozing from every orifice. I swallowed as I drew my eyes from the woman.

I moved my gaze to another corpse, a few paces away from the circle. It was wearing a familiar blue uniform. That must have been the down officer reported on the radio. Poor bastard, he was dead. My heart flipped from the sight. Then I looked at the face and my heart dropped completely as I recognized the build. It was Roberts. He lay face down in a pool of his own blood. His eyes were wide and lifeless. Roberts’s sidearm was a few paces away as if knocked out of his hand. I turned away, covering my mouth. Turning back, reeling from the shock I scanned for Sanchez. If that fucker murdered Roberts then Sanchez was—I spotted another corpse outside of the circle. I recognized the face instantly. My heart shattered into dust. It was Sanchez: his dull, lifeless eyes stared at me hauntingly. My face was frozen as my brain struggled to comprehend the sight. He was dead. That warm pat on my head, those smiles from those goofy two that greeted me in mornings returned to my thoughts and I felt my heart shatter. Why? He was joking with me an hour ago. He said we’d be going to lunch later. This was a dream: it didn't feel real. This man that I—

“Morgan, shit, get a hold of yourself,” Marcus whispered, coolly.

“I can’t help it,” I uttered. “He got them. He fuckin’ murdered them.”

“We can’t think of that now. Focus Morgan,” He shout whispered. “What are you, some weak valley girl?”

I breathed deeply, morbidly smiling out of habit from Marcus’s jab.

"Let's go,” he said.

Marcus was the first to move. He was like a lion positioning himself for the kill. I heard his rapid footsteps go out the doors before I could see. I know Marcus movements could, at this moment, rival the swiftness of any special forces. I followed suit and raised my gun at the priest, covering Marcus. A renewed anger—no, a rage overtook me. This piece of unrepentable shit murdered two of my friends, unforgivable! The gunman must have heard us for he turned his head. At that moment when he turned his body to us, I nearly shot him out of hatred. This blind wrath—how fucking dare this shit rat! He was smiling. There was no menacing or sadistic undertone from the expression. It was if it was pitying or tired. Was he looking pitifully at us? The thought escaped me as Marcus roared.

“Drop the weapon! Drop it now!” He boomed, snarling like an animal. “Get down on your hands and knees. Now!”

It was a voice I didn’t recognize. This wasn’t the normally cool and collected man I knew. He was a wild animal, bearing his teeth like fangs at the murderer of our friends. I didn’t see his eyes for I was behind him. But I imagine his eyes blood red in rage. And if I were the subject of their gaze, I might have fainted from the terror.

“Down. Now!” He screamed.

We reached the tennis court and stood a few paces away from him and about ten from each other. I stepped to the side so that we had him from his six and his nine o’clock. I tensed as he turned to Marcus. I reached for my microphone, my gun still focused to his center mass, ready to put him down if he even dared to move.

“Contact! Ten-twenty-three. This is Patrol 4-MS, Officer Morgan. Contact with suspect, two officers down, dead at Central Park Tennis Center. Requestin’ assistance,” I said. “Over.”

“Copy that, ten-sixty-one. Officers approaching northbound from East Drive and West Drive,” the radio operator said. “Officers Lockhart and Thomas approaching eastbound from Ninety-seventh. Standby.”

“Ten-four,” I said. “And get me a bus!”

“Copy.”

I clasped my microphone to my shoulder and refocused on the gunman, exhaling forcefully. He turned his head over his shoulder to me and smiled. He touched his beard as if content with the situation.

“Hello my dear. Have you come to join in the Deliverance of Man?” He said.

My anger grew and I furrowed my brows.

“You fuckin’, murderin’ bastard, this isn’t a game! Drop it and get on the ground!” I shouted. “Now!”

He didn’t comply and for a split second I contemplated shooting him in the knee to force him on the ground.

“Please do not use such vulgar language, my dear. For we are before the Beginning.”

“The fuck is wrong with you people?” I questioned.

“I feel no warmth in your heart, child,” he said, almost uttering. “Have you hardened your heart to the Lord?”

“God ain’t here for ya today, Priest,” I growled, mockingly.

I was hoping that it would give time for Marcus to see an opening. But then he then turned back to Marcus whom had a predatory gaze to him. I’m sure he had the same thoughts as I.

_ Kill the motherfucker! _

But he didn’t as expected from a natural cool head.

“I’m ordering you one more time. Drop the gun, now,” he said, aiming his gun at the man’s center mass.

He laughed. The priest laughed almost insanely as he turned to the brightening sky. He was smiling. His arms raised to the sun. He arched his back as if he was doing the limbo. He bared his teeth in almost an ear to ear-like grin. I could see his gums and his eyes were widen with insanity. He looked at us each and there was something in his eyes, something possessing that made me numb in my arms that if I needed to at that moment I wouldn't be able to pull the trigger. It was as if I was being pulled by strings.

“Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed,” He recited with a blissful sigh.

“What the hell?” I uttered, raising an eyebrow.

Marcus stepped forward. But he suddenly stopped as the priest jerked and screamed maniacally. He straightened his back in an unnatural jerking fashion and turned away from both of us to have a profile view of him.

“So by the Advocate’s hands shall the child of light be found and we will bring upon this new age. And so we enter the kingdom of heaven!”

He then raised the gun to his head.

“No, wait don—”

Everything seemed to go by so slow as I opened my mouth and stretched out my hand. The man’s head then suddenly burst in a brilliant cloud of red. My eyes were shut as I heard his limp body fall to the ground. I had my arms raised to my face to protect them from the spray. Opening them slowly, I saw only Marcus’s face, frozen in disbelief, his gun still pointed to where the priest had stood. The circle of bodies were separating us. The next thing I remember was the sound of sirens and Thomas and Lockhart shouting behind us.

I didn’t remember how long it took until I was freed from the shock of the whole thing. I don’t even think I had blinked since I closed my eyes to avoid the blood spray. When I came to, I was sitting in the back of one of the station’s armored trucks we called ‘buses’. Police tape had blocked off all of Ninety-seventh. From the radio chatter, this section of Central Park was closed effectively until further notice. A blanket was wrapped around me. I turned and saw Thomas. He had wrapped his arm around me; he must have been comforting me. I looked up at him, his new spiky hair would have evoked a laugh and a jab out of me if it wasn’t for what had just happened.

“Thomas?” I asked. “What are ya doin’ here?

He turned to me. His eyes were gentle.

“Morgan, you came back,” he smiled. “We were worried you had lost it back there.”

I made a quick huff in nervous laughter.

“As if I had anythin’ left to lose,” I sighed.

He chuckled lightly.

“How long have I been out?” I asked.

“An hour or so,” he said. “You just stood frozen up when Kevin and I got there.”

I cradled my head in my hands. I can’t believe I froze up like that. What was I some rookie blue still shitting in their diapers?

“Where’s Lockhart,” I asked.

“He’s talking to Patterson right now.”

I nodded.

“You alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, I—I as best as I can be right now,” I breathed.

“I know it’s going to be hard, but I know you’ll be fine,” he smiled. “You’re the squad’s jester, after all.”

I huffed with a smile.

“How’s Marcus?” I asked.

“He’s fine. A bit shaken up but he’s fine from what I could tell,“ he said. “Well, at least as fine as anyone would be right now.”

I nodded in agreement. I would have been very concern if he wasn’t beating himself up about this. There would be hell to be paid by the precinct’s shrinks that he had ‘lost’ it.

“Where’s he at?”

“He’s talking to the ‘suits’ over there,” he pointed.

I looked around. I spotted Marcus a few yards away, past Carlson and Taylor. He was being questioned by a pair of ‘suits’. From what I could see, we were at the intersection of Ninety-seventh and East Drive; East Meadow was just ahead of us. I saw about a hundred officers and personnel scrambling around, EMTs and crime scene investigators. Damon was yelling at a group of interns to quicken their pace. It made me smile, albeit weakly. Wong was holding his reins as always. Then I saw one of the buses being loaded with the body bags. I exhaled sharply. Fucking dammit.

“How many?” I asked, half of me not wanting to know.

“Sixteen,” he said. “there’s one survivor.”

“How serious?”

“Not sure. She’s being sent to Mount Sinai Hospital for surgery.”

“And Sanchez and Roberts?”

I already knew the answer.

“Dead.”

I let out a groan and shut my eyes as the words pierced my heart. Thomas rubbed my back to comfort me.

“Were they counted as part of the sixteen?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, somberly.

I exhaled, my heart falling. My face just felt so numb; my whole body feeling insensible to any outside stimuli. It just didn’t seem real. I slouched, cupping my face in my hands. Sanchez laugh resounded in my head.

“Officer Morgan?” A male voice called from beyond the bus.

I looked up, wiping my face of eye crust. One of the detectives was standing a few feet in front of me. He was holding a notepad and pen. His partner, I presumed, was still questioning Marcus by one of the other buses.

“That’s me,” I replied, exhaling.

“May I have a word with you?” The detective asked.

I motioned for Thomas and he released his hold on my shoulder for me to leap out of the back of the bus.

“I’ll catch you later, okay?” He said.

I waved him off as I followed the detective to a quieter and less crowded part of the intersection. I saw news vans were starting to come in. A bitterness filled my mouth as I walked away. I spat onto the grass; then I turned back to my front. We sat at one of the benches overlooking the reservoir.

“Officer Morgan, I’m special agent Tom Walker.”

I nodded.

“Now, I know you must be shaken up by all this but can you tell me what happened?”

I smirked, tired.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked.

“Please. You’re a witness to this shooting, Morgan. I need you to cooperate.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I sighed, breathless.

I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and shook it until one came loose. There was only one left after this one. Lighting it, I inhaled the cool, acid smoke. I could feel my mind and body beginning to calm as the tobacco fragrance seeped in.

“Get on with it.”

“Now, what did you see?”

“We were patrollin’ Harlem Meer when we got the call,” I began, keeping my gaze at the water ahead. "It was probably eight-fifty, eight-fifty-five when the radio went off. When we heard there was a gunman at the Tennis Center, we rushed to it. Our friends, Sanchez and Roberts were patrollin’ around there and when we heard of an officer down—well, you know us uniforms. We protect our own.”

I took a pause, exhaling the smoke.

“Well, you know how well that turned out.”

I put the cigarette to my lips again, leaning back against the bench and looking up.

“When we reached the scene, Roberts and Sanchez were already dead. We confronted the suspect. I radioed that we made contact and was assured backup, Thomas and Lockhart and others. They didn’t come in time. It was already over when they got there.”

“What happened between the time when you called in and when Officer Lockhart and Thomas arrived at the scene?” The detective asked.

“We repeatedly told the man to drop his weapon and surrender but he refused—no, he outright ignored us. He must have been crazy. This is just my layman’s guess, you understand.”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“He was just smilin’, as if he was havin’ a day of fun at the park. Then he said some religious verse or whatever. I don’t remember exactly what he said but it was about a mystery or somethin' like that. I don’t know. I was never really into the whole God thin'.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then he blew his brains out,“ I said forming a finger gun. “Boom! Just like that.”

I turned to the detective. His face was unchanged as he wrote into his notepad.

“Anythin’ else?” I asked.

“What happened next?” He asked.

“Nothin'. He fell to the ground. Then Lockhart and Thomas arrived and the next thin' I know I’m in the back of a bus with Thomas.”

“Alright, thank you Officer Morgan.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, we’re done, for now. You can head back to the bus now. My partner is most likely finished with your partner by now.”

“Alright,” I nodded, getting up.

“We have also collected surveillance footage from the security cameras of the Tennis Center. Once we review them and made sure yours and your partner’s stories add up, you should be all good,” he said, standing up. “here is my card.”

The detective handing me a white business card.

“We will need to do an official statement back at the station and I will need you to file a report to your superior and then to me. We also might need court testimony so I will contact you soon to arrange the court visit if needed. Do not go traveling in the meantime until the case has been settled.”

“It’s not like I have any other place to go,” I shrugged.

I followed him back to the bus. He continued on and departed in a black sudan with his partner while I walked to the back of the bus. Thomas was gone but Marcus was there. He spotted me and smiled weakly, scooting over for me to sit.

“How are you doing?” He asked.

“I should be askin’ you that,” I said, looking down at my feet. “You were classmates with them.”

He frowned and looked away.

“And you were in—”

“Don’t Marcus, just don’t. I wouldn’t say that,” I said. “At least not anymore.”

He nodded.

“This still doesn’t feel real.”

“So much for a quiet day,” I said.

He sighed, mournfully. “Yeah,a quiet day.”

“We’re heading back to the station,” the driver shouted.

“Got it!” I shouted back.

I grabbed onto one of the railings of the bus as began to move. As we headed back to the station from East Drive, I saw Patterson talking to some news anchor. I turned to Marcus. He had a faraway look plastered on his face as he looked up to the blue sky. We would have to file a report and get re-interviewed when we got back to the station. I sighed, loudly, from the prospect. This was going to be a long day.

I opened my eyes and checked my phone. It was three o-seven, six hours since the shooting. I exhaled as I stretched my back. I was back in the office. The spinning ceiling fan was all that held my gaze as I sat struggling to find the motivation to move. I was leaning back in my chair, exhausted from the detectives ‘interrogating’ me for every minute detail on the incident. My heart still hurt from the fact that Sanchez and Roberts were gone. Then again, it was only six hours ago. It was a slow burn and now it was beginning to creep from the pit of my stomach. Their funerals would be the day after tomorrow. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing their families. After all that had happened this morning, I didn’t want to hear another voice, see another face. But then I heard Marcus enter the room. I guess the detectives were done with him, too.

“Hey,” he said.

I nodded back, spinning around in the chair. “How’d it go?”

“Fine,” he said. “I guess they were satisfied with our testimonies since they said we weren’t going to be required for another interview.”

“Good, I don’t wanna go to court, again.”

I could tell he was smiling.

“Come on, the lieutenant wants us.”

“Oh god, why?” I groaned, angrily in frustration. “Haven’t we been through enough?”

“Morgan,” he pressed.

“Fine, I’m coming.”

I stood up from my desk and followed him to the squad’s boardroom. Entering, we were met with the rest of the squad. Not even Patterson was shooting dagger stares at that moment. They were all quiet.

“I can’t believe it,” Wong said. “They were just here this morning and now—”

Damon frowned and placed his arm around Wong.

“Yeah man, I know,” he said.

“How are you holding up, Marcus?” Gonzales asked. “We know you were closest to them.”

“I’ve been better,” Marcus sighed. “I think the situation is still being processed.”

“I think we’re all going through that,” Rogers said.

Taylor and Carlson nodded in agreement, silent as they always seemed to be.

“I talked to the Captain earlier,” Patterson said. “He said it would be best if you all took tomorrow off, clear your head and all that before the funeral. Marcus and the Mon—Morgan, he said to come back on Tuesday.”

“I ain’t got no objections,” I said.

“Thank you, Patterson,” Marcus saluted.

I nodded and so did Marcus. Four days off, huh? Not bad.

“The shooting survivor should be out of surgery and stable enough for interviewing by the time you get back. I’ll email you the details when they come to me.”

“Thank you, sir,” we both said, saluting Patterson.

“Alright, dismissed. I have to speak with the Captain.”

We flooded into the hall.

“Morgan, Tasha’s going to drive me home.”

“Alright,” I nodded.

I turned to the rest of the guys. The rest of the squad looked at me and I winced. I knew what they were thinking. I waved the guys’s concerned looks off as I headed to the woman’s locker room to get ready to drive Marcus and myself home.

“Morgan, after the funeral, we were planning on going to head to our usual spot. Want to come?” Rogers asked.

“We’re planning on drinking ‘til we drop,” Damon said with a curt smile. “They would have wanted it that way.”

“To honor them,” Wong added.

My back was to them and I was a few feet down the hall. I looked down to the marble floor. My eyes were downcast from the distortion.

“What do you say?” Marcus said, barely a whisper.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you guys there,” I said, trying a smile. “I have to deliver the preliminary report to the detectives, first.”

“Okay,” Taylor said. “We’ll be seeing you.”

“We’ll be at the usual spot after the funeral,” Carlson added.

I heard them walk in the opposite direction to the men’s locker room.

“Yeah,” I uttered, standing in the empty hall. “See you there.”

I continued to walk to the locker room, unable to look at anyone that passed by. Entering it, I was alone. Opening my locker, I took my smiley button and threw it into the locker before taking my uniform off and throwing it in the collect bin with my name taped on it. I felt bad for whoever that had to clean them. It was then that I realized it was blood soaked. I was half naked now, down to my tank top and panties. I ambled to the shower stalls. I absentmindedly took them off and sighed from the cold air. Turning on the knob, the spray of cold water poured over me. I barely felt it. My body was too numb. I saw death today. In all my five years on the force, I had to see someone die in that way. Now I did and I didn’t know how to address it. I’m sure the shrinks were going to have a field day with me when the Captain would most definitely send me to meet them. I made sure the shower was blasting so no one could hear my sobs. Pressing my head to the wall, I poured out my heart onto the shower tiles. If no one knew, then it was okay, right? I had an image to maintain, after all. I never liked being pitied or having people fond over me to make me feel better like some valley girl bimbo. These feelings, these knives that speared my heart, I’d be the only one that would duel with them. And so my cheek felt wet, drops falling onto my breasts. Whether it was from the shower or me, I didn’t know. Once again this feeling returned to me. It had been so long since I last felt it and now it was punching me in the gut with renewed vigor. I squeezed my eyes shut and let the water pour over me as I stood in the freezing spray. It was a long day.

Two days had passed since Roberts and Sanchez were killed. It was starting to get dark now. The funeral this morning was gut-wrenchingly lovely, thousands of officers from all the precincts and even some from outside the city and even state came. The procession left from The Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine through Central Park to our Station before the Hurst would drive them and us to Calvary Cemetery in Queens. It was healing, I think. And even though I took the religious service with a grain of salt and a secret flask of spirits, it was calming. I think we buried our feelings when we saw them lower the caskets into their respective plots, Roberts beside his wife and baby, both passing away in childbirth years ago and Sanchez in his family’s plot. Why that was sentimental was beyond me. They would be worm food soon enough. Was that cold of me? I dunno; I guess it was this coldness that kept me from weeping the entire ceremony and functional. I didn’t cry when mom went nor did I when dad did, too. Instead, I kept my stone-face intact, not allow such feeling to chisel it away until I was out of sight of prying eyes. It was okay to cry in private, not to show your face to anyone lest they think you're weak. I guess that was the reason that I earned myself a reputation of being a cold and heartless person at times. Even Marcus in all our years together never saw me cry once. When mom went, I cried in my room so dad wouldn’t see. When dad died, I cried in the dorm bathroom so my roommate wouldn't. Now it was that rare time to cry again and I’d have to wait until I got home so my squad mates wouldn’t see.

Shaking the recent memory away, I turned to the sky; it was turning dark blue and black. I was still in my car and the sun was barely still in view. The orange haze of the sun has begun to dissipate for night was coming. The sun was red, a deep hemoglobin red as it dipped below the buildings. I had pulled into a parallel parking spot just outside of the squad’s usual haunt. The streets were packed with revelers and people heading to the bars. I locked my car and headed inside the quaint wood-decorated bar, dressed still in my funeral clothes, a black pencil skirt and white blouse and heels. Today would be one of the handful of times I would wear this getup and for good reason. Heels were fucking horrible. Who’s bright idea was to wear on shitty stilts? But at least I got a few looks from men passing by not to mention a few inches on my demure height. At least it had its benefits, how superficial they were. What we were going to do in there needed no such high appearance but I had no time to change from the funeral. I nodded at the barkeep as I entered one of the reserved side rooms. The thing I loved about this bar, besides the smell of high quality tobacco unmarred by the chemicals and tar that plagued cigarettes, was the scene. It wasn’t just in its name. this particular bar was beautifully decorated with nice wood furniture and book shelves along all its walls. It had a wonderful selection that even the most strict bibliophile would find satisfactory. The side rooms in which patrons would sit were quaint and intimate. In the room, a circle table sat in the middle with comfy chairs around. The rest of the squad, save for Patterson was sitting there. Patterson stayed behind. I guess even he had a heart pained by their loss despite his equally stoic face. I smiled sympathetically. It made me respect Patterson a bit more. I looked up from my feet. Wong and Damon were nursing some Whiskey on the rocks. Taylor and Gonzales were preparing some fireball shots while Rogers held a Bloody Mary. Marcus was double fisting two apple martinis and was sobbing like mad. Carlson, holding a beer, was rubbing his back to comfort the hurting man. Once I entered the room, the six men lit up and smiled.

“Eh! Morgan you came!” Rogers smiled. “Come on and sit down, we’re about to get started.”

I smiled at him and took a seat next to Damon.

“Here Morgan, we got you your favorite,” Wong smiled.

He handed me a tall glass with my regular order, a Blood Red Sangria, extra sugar. The aroma hit me first. With a sickeningly sweet smelling concoction of red wine, lime soda and brandy with slices of orange and lemon, frozen cubed fruit and a splash of orange juice, it was just how I liked it. I looked down, somber as I held it up. This was the first drink I got when I joined this squad; the first drink that Sanchez bought me when he invited me here as a rookie. A lot of memories began flooding through. My cheeks flushed as red as the drink before me.

“Alright, everyone!” Gonzales cheered. “This night we dedicate to Sanchez and Roberts.”

“Hell yeah,” Damon responded.

“To Sanchez and Roberts,” Wong added.

“To them,” we shouted.

“Here’s to you Sannie, Rob,” Marcus cried. “To you magnificent assholes for leaving us so soon.”

He sat back down, being comforted by Taylor.

“This night’s to you two,” I uttered, raising my glass.

I saw Gonzales smile at me.

“Here, here,” he nodded. “Everyone?”

He motioned for us all to stand. The boys nodded and so did I. We all stood up.

“To Roberts,” Gonzales said. “May his nephew grow up to be just like him. And may he and his wife and child be reunited in heaven.”

“To Roberts,” we repeated.

“To Sanchez,” Carlson added. “May he forever be the snarky asshole he was.”

“Here, here!”

“Ugh, Sanchez and Roberts, you fucking bastards!” Marcus cried, raising his glass and wiping his soaked face into his shoulder. “I’ll miss you two. I really—I really will.”

“You magnificent fucking bastards!” We cheered for a final time, clinking our glasses together.

We poured one out to them before taking in our drinks. Sitting down, the boys began talking, sharing stories of those two. I barely spoke, letting them have their night. After all, they all went to the academy together. I was the outsider in their memories. I frowned and nursed my drink. It was painfully sad as it brought back memories of my own. Many a time had I spend a quiet evening after work with those two, even more evenings with just Sanchez while Roberts stayed late working. then I felt something tickle my eyelashes. My cheek was wet. I quickly wiped it away, looking at the others. They were too busy laughing at a funny memory of those two. I looked at the drink in my hand. Now my heart ached at the smells, the antics, the laughs and cries of my squad mates. Tonight was to them and so we drowned our sorrows with booze, burying our grief for them, forever.

_ I—I like you. _

I shook my head. No, I liked you. I took a swig of my drink and looked towards my friends. They were laughing about some story of Roberts. I huffed in amusement as I closed my eyes.

“Thank you for driving him home, Morgan,” Tasha said in her nightgown said. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

I nodded to the woman as I closed the car door.

“No problem, Tasha,” I smiled. “Tonight was good for him, I think. Got a lot out of his system, out of all of us.”

She smiled at me a knowing one.

“You were quite fond of Sanchez, weren’t you?”

I huffed and smiled.

“Yeah, I was.”

She nodded in agreement as she struggled to lug the much larger man up the porch steps and into the warm light of the house.

“Make sure he gets enough rest tomorrow,” I said. “After tomorrow, we get back to work.”

“I’ll be sure to tie him down when we get back to bed.”

Kinky, I thought to myself in amusement.

“Well, goodnight Morgan,” Tasha said. “Text me when you get back to your apartment safely.”

“Will do,” I said, making a quick salute. “Tell Brianna and Kelly that I’ll take them out for ice cream tomorrow when they get out of school.”

“Haha, sure thing,” she grinned. “Good night.”

“G’night.”

She closed the door and I was left alone standing next to my car. The street lights were faint and not a whisper of activity was left. Here, it didn’t even feel like it was in the city, save for the tall skyscrapers beyond the trees overhead. It was quiet as the town I grew up in. I smiled to myself. I was rambling in my thoughts again. I shouldn’t have been driving since I too was inebriated; but tonight was exceptionally quiet. There weren’t that many cars about these small neighborhood streets. I would take the quiet route tonight, clear my head. Slipping into the driver's seat of the car, I turned on the engine. Pulling out, I drove eastbound down the road. Turning intersections and down streets, my mind wasn’t on the road at all. It was of the unmade bed back home that was crying out in loneliness for me. I would most certainly accompany it. I turned on the radio as I drove. It was getting too quiet for even me down these roads.

_ And so we, tonight, honor officers Justin Roberts, twenty-nine, and Adrian Sanchez, twenty seven, gunned down in the line of duty Friday morning along with fourteen others, including the shooter, Joseph Bradley, forty-seven, the assistant deacon of the Church of God’s Deliverance. When asked, Father Francis Adamson on the day of the shooting stated, _

_ "This was a tragedy and a terrible loss for the church and the community.” _

_ It should be noted that the victims of the shooting were all members of the same congregation of Church of God’s Deliverance including the lone survivor, Sharon Johnson, currently in recovery at Mount Sinai Hospital. A police investigation is currently underway into the motive of the shooting. Police have yet, as of Sunday afternoon, to uncover a motive— _

I turned off the radio. My head was hurting again, a deep thumping feeling like standing up too quickly after sitting for a long time. Exhaling, I took out my last cigarette. Lighting it, I entered and turned the corner and rolled into the parking lot outside my apartment. Pulling into my parking spot, I turned off the engine. Now I was left in the darkness of my car. Motorists passed by to my right on Central Park West, painting me with strobing lights as I finished my last cigarette. I would have to go to the store tomorrow. Snuffing it out on the ashtray, I looked down at my lap. I arched my head downward taking the smiley face button that Sanchez gave me a long time ago. I made sure before I went out for drinks to take this from my locker. When I looked at the innocent smile of the button, all the feelings I had at that moment collapsed and I closed my eyes.

_ “Man, haha, I really had a blast, Morgan,” he smiled. “Those dolphins really know how to pull off a show. It’s too bad that Roberts couldn’t come with.” _

_ “Yeah they really do,” I said, bashfully. “I’m glad I got to see the Aquarium with you, too.” _

_ “So what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?” He asked. _

_ I gulped. Right, this was my plan, wasn’t it. _

_ “Um, well, Adrian, I, um, you see I wanted,” I swallowed. _

_ “What was that?” _

_ “I, well you see the thin' is,” I stammered. “I was really happy to be put in the same squad as you, Adrian.” _

_ I smiled, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. _

_ “Me too,” He laughed, his gaze softening. “I’m glad, too. My mornings were always so boring. Then you came along. To think it’s been two years since you just started off.” _

_ He looked to the dimming sky, an air of nostalgia surrounded us. _

_ “Well, we should probably head home now. It’s getting dark.” _

_ He walked ahead of me down the boardwalk towards the road leading to the train station. This was it, now or never. I summoned all the courage I had and went for it. I pulled on his shirt to stop him. He turned to me, looking down. _

_ “Wait! I, um, y—ya’know Adrian, I have somethin’ else I want to say to you.” _

_ “What is it?” _

_ I fidgeted with my skirt. I took a deep breath and looked up at him. My face was completely red. Tasha even when out of her way to play stylist with me. _

_ “I—I like you!” I shouted. “I really like you, Adrian!” _

_ People around us were turning to our direction which was making me even more self-conscious. _

_ “Dude, is she asking him out?” I heard someone say. _

_ “Good luck,” another cheered, walking away. _

_ “I’ve liked you since we first met and I’ve been holdin’ on to these feelin's for the past two years. So, um, p-p-please go out with me! I—If you want to, that is.” _

_ I shut my eyes and looked down, pulling at my skirt in anxiety awaiting his answer. Suddenly, I felt him pat me on the head, affectionately. Was he? Was he— _

_ “Thank you, Morgan,” he said with a smile. “I really appreciate your words.” _

_ “Adrian,” I smiled. _

_ But then he looked sad. Why was he sad? _

_ “But I can’t return your feelings,” he said. _

_ “Huh? Why?” I asked, shocked. “Don’t you like me, too?” _

_ “No, I do like you,” he said, sighing. “But not the same way as you do, Morgan.” _

_ He tucked a strand of my loose hair behind my head. My heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. If you don’t then why are you doing these things that make me think so, I asked myself. _

_ “I’m sorry, it’d be weird for me, ya’know? You’re like one of the guys.” _

_ I felt like my body crumble. He didn’t see me as a girl? I heard other voices murmur. _

_ “What? Is he serious?” I heard someone say. _

_ “Damn, bro-zoned,” I heard another said. _

_ “One of the guys?” I repeated, devastated. "Ha...haha, I've heard that before. What a riot." _

_ “Yeah," he frowned, somberly. "It’s just I don’t see you in that way, I’m sorry.” _

_ I looked up to him. _

_ “No, don’t be,” I assured, lowering my gaze. "I was… just hopin’ this wouldn’t turn out like every other time. I thought you liked me too so I didn’t say anythin’ since I wanted to take this slow. I always rushed and asked the guy out and I was always rejected. But I guess I was wrong.” _

_ “I’m sorry, Morgan.” _

_ “Yeah, me too.” _

I opened my eyes and felt my face moisten. It felt sobs, I failed and vomited forth my pent up feelings. Tears flooded from my eyes as I exorcised my grief in a singular moment, never to cry of this event again. It must have been ten minutes as I poured my heart out, my skirt becoming soaked in my tears. I probably looked completely disgusting now but I didn’t care. Finishing and panting for breath, I felt lighter, like a huge stone was lifted off my back. I wiped my face and blew my nose.

“Enough cryin’ now.”

I tossed the button that Sanchez gave me into the glove compartment.

_ I really like you, Adrian! _

“No,” I said, lowering my gaze. “I really liked 'cha.”

I exhaled and touched the button for a final time before closing the compartment.

“Goodbye forever, Sanchez,” I said, repeating what I said at his grave.

Slipping out of the car, I stretched and spat onto the asphalt, cracking my back.

“Fuck that felt good!” I shouted, smiling.

After what occurred in my car, I wouldn’t look back sadly at this. I wouldn’t think about this event, only of the good times we had. Taking my gym bag and briefcase from the backseat, I cross the parking lot. Just before I entered the building, I noticed two men walking past me. I didn’t see their faces for their backs were to me. They walked along the sidewalk in silence, towards Central Park. I recognized their builds and the uniform blues. I shook my head and they were gone. They must have turned the corner. Was it—It couldn’t be. I turned and entered the lobby of the apartment complex. Nodding at Gloria, the receptionist, I headed to the elevator. Ascending to the very top of the apartment building I felt my body relax. I was home after such a long day. The wake, the funeral, the crying mothers and fathers, the ceremony, the march of blue, carrying them down the steps to the Hurst, the burial, it was more than I could handle for one day. Lifting my head, I noticed an envelope taped to the door. It had a big smiley face sticker on it, the same kind as the button my my uniform. I ripped it off from the door and opened it. There was a letter inside. I read it aloud.

“To the loveliest cop in all of New York,” I read. “I just wanted to offer my deepest condolences at the loss of your squad mates and friends. I know how hard it is to lose a friend and I know you’re going through a lot. But I know you’ll bounce back like the kick ass cop you are. Keep your head high and keep doing your best. Sincerely, your biggest fan.”

I folded the letter and opened the door to my apartment. Biggest fan, eh? How did they know my address? Well I am a Police Officer, I guess that information wouldn’t be hard to find out. I was drunk so it didn’t seem like such a big deal anyway. It was probably from some kid I talked to during those Police Visit days at school. Maybe it was one of Marcus’s kids. I tossed the letter onto the counter. I didn’t even bother turning on the lights or changing. I just dropped everything by the entrance, locked the door, walked down the hall to the living room, turned and walked into the bedroom and just jumped into the soft gray sheets. I was on my back as I slowly drifted. I turned my head and gazed out of the wall window to my view of Central Park and the Upper East Side. It was beautiful. The lights flickered on as I drifted away into the night, exhausted and drained.

  
  
****


	3. What's Up Doc?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four days after the shooting at the Central Park Tennis Center, Officers Morgan and Marcus arrive at Mount Sinai Hospital to interview the lone survivor of the massacre. There, they meet an old friend of Marcus's.

**** Our cruiser was parked out front of Mount Sinai Hospital located on the famous Fifth Avenue on the east side of Central Park. Marcus was making a call to Tasha so I had at least twenty minutes, ample time for a smoke. I wouldn’t have another opportunity until lunch. Unfortunately, that meant that I had to stand out here in the damn rain. Marcus being the baby he is was afraid of getting second-hand smoking so this would have to do. It’d be fine if a window was cracked open but with the rain, it was undoable. I would have run across the street to the covered entrance but I couldn’t since apparently hospitals are a non-smoking zone. C’mon, not even a smoking room? I’m out here in the downpour for fuck sake. Blowing a raspberry, I took out a cig. At least my patrol cap was keeping my face fairly dry. I lit it and took a long drag, closing my eyes.

It wasn’t unexpected; in fact, I was waiting for it. The news cycle and now even the public had begun to forget the tragedy, eagerly seeking out the next juicy spectacle of misery or the latest bullshit celebrity saying ‘what now?’ Even though it’d been only four days since that terrible morning, the news had already moved on. The looks of sympathy had ended with the latest incident of another unlucky bastard going six feet under by police. It was unfortunately back to the old grind. There was nothing more to drink up from the ‘Tennis Center Massacre’ so they moved on. But while it lasted, it was a riot listening to them argue against each other, the Left and the Right, on the correct course of action of what to do about this tragedy. But in the end, it was always the same. All that was left were empty promises of action and hollow words from strangers. They were just scraps and bones for us dogs in blue to fight over. They even had the gall to say we were exceeding our authority when the Feds raided their church. I saw one post on a certain microblogging site, rhymes with rumbler, by a hysterical, special snowflake bitch on how we were infringing on religious freedom. Religious freedom? The freedom to murder fifteen people; that kind of freedom? What was next? Would we let any charlatan corrupt and cheat innocent and delusional people in some compound in the name of tolerance? I loved how these crazy cultists cried out that their rights were being violated when we searched their church only to find a rambo-esque cache of military grade weapons and barrels of makeshift poison gas. What the hell were those armed churchgoers getting ready for? The apocalypse? And we were the bad guys? Those that refused to buy into their insanity and tried to live our lives without sticking our noses in other people's business? I never really understood these religious fundamentalist-types. They got way too much media attention than they deserved and Sanchez and Roberts got too little. And what was the motivation of the shooter? It was, ‘to evacuate our souls before the coming calamity struck the world.’ It was the same bullshit these doomsday fuckers spewed every time this happened. But they weren’t the only ear and eyesores to deal with.

I loved it when the stupid and prissy social justice warriors roared up once again out of their desk chairs crying out foul. That whole goddamn social media movement that came around it was just stupid. Just because some of the victims happened to be a certain color or gender didn't mean the crime was motivated by that or that we didn’t care because of it. Fuck them for thinking that. Who the fuck were they to say that? The nerve of them. They constantly brought up those infamous cases of police brutality trying to compare us to them. They failed to see the nuance, the bigger problem within the police force and the problem with them, the public itself. As a cop I could say it. It was the over militarization of the police, having no accountability or oversight. Who investigated a cop when he did wrong? His fellow officers of course. When you get fitted for military-grade armor, given tactical training and a rifle more akin for the desert than Main Street, you feel a little larger than life, unstoppable even. When shit hit the fan in a certain Midwestern city, the only way you could tell a uniform blue from the Big Red One was ‘police’ stitched to their armored vests. Too many jarheads broken back in the last brushfire war with their ‘kill or be killed’ paranoia infected the rest of us. Some dude gets out of his car with his hands in his pockets just because and boom he’s blown away because we think he has a bomb strapped to his chest. No more questions asked. It ain’t a matter of black or white, woman or man all the time. Sure, it does in a lot of circumstances. But the mindset, the attitude of an ever present threat was a higher issue and people simply rolling over and taking it, not fighting and saying, ‘this is unlawful.’ But I digress.

What really ticked me off more than that was when this ultra-brainwashed, self-important blue-wigged bitch with a megaphone and hipster glasses came up to me and called me a gender traitor, that I was a traitor to other women and that I had ‘internalized the patriarchy’. What the fuck did that even mean? As if we women were some fucking collective horde that had little miss gamer as our spokesperson. We were simply exchanging one oppressive mindset for another. Bullshit, I hated labels and I certainly didn’t feel the need to have some bitch tell me I ain’t womaning right. They weren’t there that day. They don’t do what we do. None of them knew, not the god fearing, gun toting Right and not the prissy, ‘what about my feelings’, sanitize our society of any semblance of humanity Left. None, not one of them knew a damn thing about us.

It was a riot listening to them argue against each other. But in the end, it was always the same. Would this cycle ever end? It was so soon and yet now things were beginning to ‘normalize’. After so many shootings, so many mass killings in the last few years and with these terrorist wannabes beginning to spring up, we had become so apathetic, so used to it. I was already numb to it so it wasn’t surprising to me. Just yesterday we had some raging fuck take out a whole community center in bumfuck-in-nowheresville, USA. And what did I feel when I heard of it on the radio on the way to the store? Nothing. My heart only sank when I saw the new price of a pack of Menthols. Fourteen bucks plus tax, really motherfuckers? I was living in Manhattan, one of the most expensive places in the world to live; I was scraping by so at least lower your fucking cigarette prices. Was that bad of me? I don’t know nor did I even care. Things were getting normal now. We should have been back to normal. And we were. At least, that was what it looked like from the outside. The Precinct had yet to recover from the loss. I don’t think we even fully recovered from that ‘assassination’ in Brooklyn that winter. Us uniforms were one big family, after all. For us, we simply put it behind our backs, only allowing the precious memories of those no longer around to accompany us as we did our job. But could we continue on like that? I liked to believe we could.

I snuffed out my cigarette and tucked the carton away. The cigarettes weren’t calming me today, anyway. It was raining, heavily. The pelting of raindrops on the glass and roof of the car was probably more calming than the cigarettes themselves. The sky was a gray-blue and the rain made it so we could only see maybe twenty feet ahead. I turned to Marcus. He was looking tired, bags were under his eyes as if he had not slept in days. He looked totally out of it. I chuckled to myself.

“What is it, Morgan?" He groaned, cracking his neck.

“Nothin’. Just curious,” I said, teasingly. “How was yesterday?”

“Oh shut up," he moaned, scratching his shaven head. “I woke up drunk, okay.”

“When did ya wake up?” I asked. "You had all of yesterday off.”

“Six in the afternoon," he said, wiping his eyes.

“What?” I laughed. “You slept all day and ya still woke up drunk?”

“Ah, not so loud," he begged, rubbing his temples.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot ya drank like a gallon of booze on Sunday,” I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “You even kissed—”

“Don’t say it," he groaned.

“Everyone was drunk, it’s fine. Taylor blacked out so there’s no need to apologize.”

“He’s not who I’m worried about?”

“Casey?”

“Yup, I don’t think I can look her in the eye again," he nodded. “I swear, when Taylor’s wedding day came, his friends must have messed with him and switched his fiancée with a gorilla or something because there is no way in hell someone Casey’s build could toss someone my size across a room like that.”

“Never underestimate a woman’s strength,” I teased. "We’re quite veracious when we’re mad.”

“Yeah, I forgot the fitness testing fiasco last year. How’s Big Donnie doing? I didn’t see him at the New Year's Party this year.”

“I think he’s still afraid of me,” I laughed.

“Still, I’d rather fight him any day of the week than an angry Casey,” Marcus smirked. “Man, if Casey was walking down a dark alley and someone jumped her, I’d call the cops for the attacker’s sake.”

I laughed a little too hard at that, choking on my saliva.

“Ah, sorry, yak ack!” I said, still laughing.

Calming down, I sighed.

“Woo, ack ha! Ahem. Well, come on,” I said, putting on my black leather gloves. “The patient’s not gonna wait forever, right?”

“Ah, yeah," he groaned. “Let’s go.”

Stepping out of the car and into the raging torrent, I fixed my patrol cap and grabbed my legal pad and pen wrapped in a plastic bag. Marcus followed quickly behind me as we ran across the populated street of Museum Mile. Entering the main lobby, I noted the scene. Several women were manning it helping family members and patients alike. Nurses and other personnel were walking about and the lobby itself was packed. I noted the bright and clean white of the large room which most certainly was hurting Marcus’s eyes. We walked up to the reception desk, soaked, scrapping our wet shoes along the floor mats.

“I swear I’ll smack ya if ya forget an umbrella again,” I scolded, dripping from the downpour.

“You’ve been worse," he shot back. “Quit complaining.”

“Um, hello officers, how may I help you?” The center receptionist asked with a smile.

“Oh yes! Hello ma’am, my partner and I have an appointment with the doc who oversaw the Tennis Center Shootin' survivor, Sharon Johnson,” I explained. “They both should be expectin' us.”

“Very well. May I see some identification, please?”

Handing her my badge and license, Marcus did the same. He was looking a little more sober now, but no less grumpy.

“Thank you," she said, scanning over our IDs. “I’ll page the doctor.”

“Thank you,” I said.

The receptionist spoke through the microphone.

“Hello, Doctor Benson? Yes, there are two NYPD officers requesting you down in the main lobby," she said. "Ah huh, okay. It’s an… Officer Morgan and Officer Simpson. Yes, Marcus Simpson. Yes, okay. I will. Bye.”

She turned to us, handing us back our IDs.

“Doctor Benson will be down shortly," she smiled. “Please have a seat in the meantime.”

I nodded to her before heading to the nearest seat. Marcus sat next to me and grabbed a magazine from one of the coffee tables in front of us. A few torturous minutes after we sat, I began to grow irritable. I should have brought my headphones, I thought to myself. Sighing, I turned to Marcus.

“Anythin’ interestin’?” I asked. “I don’t really  _ do  _ these ‘Ladies’ mags.”

“Of course, you’re barely human," he joked.

“Yeah, more like a monkey, eh?”

He snickered in amusement. “More like a gorilla.”

“So anythin' interestin’?”

“Nope," he replied, curtly. “Just the latest gossip. Did you know ultra-pansy pop star boy is dead?”

“Really?” I asked.

“Nope," he shot down.

“Damn,” I frowned. "I was hopin’ he had skedaddled off to hell.”

I laughed at my own joke as I leaned back. Scanning the sterile looking room, I exhaled, my face turning back to the blank boredom of its natural state. Hospitals were so boring and depressing. All nothing more than a brick hut for a bunch of old and sick folks to go off to die. As macabre as that sounded, wasn’t it true? Weren’t hospitals nothing more than a clean and pretty place to die? I always thought it was like that. Then again, it was my cynical side that brought about that vision. But why not? You either stayed in the hospital because you were sick, you were injured, or dying. There was no happy place in a hospital, just sterile and lifeless white halls and rooms. It was no surprise that horror films always had a hospital scene or took place in one. They were freaking scary. Just sitting around waiting for this Doctor Benson was like envisioning those scary internet stories. And I guess if it indeed existed, purgatory would be a boring hospital waiting room, awaiting for the end of eternity.

“Officers?” I heard a man’s deep voice ask.

Speak of the devil.

“Ah yes, that’s us,” I said, getting up and turning to the voice. “This is my partner, Officer Simpson. I’m Officer Mor—an.”

I opened my eyes and looked up from my view of a white labcoat to a pair of dark eyes that stared right back at me. I must have been staring stupidly like a kid would at a giant stranger as I stood in front of this man. He had a warm smile on his face and his arms were holding a clipboard. He was definitely a tall drink of water. Tall, a little shorter than Marcus, maybe six foot two or something. I was beneath his shoulder in height. He had short, wavy hair and was clean shaven and by his build, he must’ve been a swimmer or something in the past. He was huge, on par with Marcus if not maybe a little leaner. It was then that I realized I’d been staring for too long. I wasn’t smitten by this, don’t get me wrong. I was simply observing the handicrafts of nature. Goddamn, nice work Doctor Benson’s parents. I felt awkward as I stumbled to find the right words to say. I shook my head. Then my nervous habit of mischievousness got the better of me and hopefully would save me from looking like an idiot.

I meowed, facetiously cocking my hips and placing one hand on my waist. "Sup buddy, what brings you to these parts—ow fuck!”

Marcus slapped me upside the head to shut me up.

“Ay, what was that for?” I asked, rubbing my head.

“That’s for acting like an idiot in front of the doctor," he frowned.

“I was just jokin’.”

Marcus turning to the man. “Sorry about that Ian, Morgan has a life threatening condition of being stupid in the morning. You wouldn’t happen to have some medicine for that, would you?”

The man laughed heartily, patting Marcus on the shoulder. I turned to Marcus and put on a sour pout.

“Haha, I don’t think I have the meds for that, Marcus,” the doctor laughed. "Besides, you shouldn’t tease the lady.”

Doctor Benson turned to me.

“Don’t worry, he still calls his mother, ‘mommy’. Just so you know.”

“That’s fuckin’ cute,” I smirked.

“Alright, alright enough with the low blows,” Marcus demanded, waving his arms.

Doctor Benson and I both laughed at Marcus’s embarrassed face. When our laughter finally died down, I noticed he turned from me back to Marcus.

“Anyway, I didn’t expect you to be the doctor of our witness,” Marcus said.

“Must be fate,” The doctor replied, patting Marcus on the shoulder. "It’s good to see you, how are you holding up?”

Marcus reciprocated the gesture.

“I’m good. Can’t stay depressed forever, you know? They wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“Yeah, I understand.”

He turned to me.

“So this is the Morgan I’ve heard so much about,” the Doctor smiled enthusiastically, crossing his arms. "You got yourself quite the partner, Marcus. But I have to admit that she’s a bit shorter than I imagined.”

“A bit? She's a pipsqueak,” Marcus teased, chuckling. “She still has to show her license to buy cigarettes and beer.”

“She  _ is _ rather young-looking,” the doctor commented. “I would have thought she was still in high school.”

The Doctor raised his hand to just above my head, comparing my diminutive height compared to his. I was only five-foot two but come on. I wasn’t like some hobbit or anything. Okay maybe a little on the short side but I was still within normal proportions.

“Hah? You’ve heard about me?” I asked.

“Why yes, Marcus speaks very fondly about you, Officer Morgan," he said.

I turned to Marcus.

“Have you been talkin' about me behind my back?” I said, accusatively narrowing my eyes.

“No, I’d never," he chuckled, shaking his head.

The doctor winked at me a knowing look; I winked back in acknowledgment.

“Well Ian, mind taking us to Miss Johnson?” Marcus said.

“Ah yes, of course.”

He turned and ushered us to the elevator. Entering the elevator in the corner of the lobby, he turned to us.

“How’s Miss Johnson’s condition?” Marcus asked, leaning against the railing.

“Miss Johnson came out of emergency surgery Saturday evening after a ten-hour procedure,” Doctor Benson said. “She’s been in recovery ever since. Her condition is stable and she’s cognizant.”

“Damn, you went all out,” Marcus smirked. “Thanks for the hard work.”

“I’ve had worse,” Doctor Benson sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I assisted with a heart transplant last year which was twenty hours. Now  _ that _ was brutal.”

“How’cha do it?” I asked.

“Lots of energy drinks," he joked.

“Good on ya. Was it successful?” I asked.

“Of course,” Doctor Benson grinned, proudly. "I was helping an excellent surgeon, after all. Without her I’d have most definitely failed.”

Marcus chuckled, looking down to his feet.

“So how were the injuries?”

“We removed a nine-millimeter round that had fragmented into fifteen shards. Luckily the round missed her aorta. Two millimeters lower and she’d have bled to death," he explained.

“Has anyone come to visit her?” I asked.

“We had a man come by Saturday evening," he said. “He didn’t stay long.”

“What did he look like?” Marcus asked.

“Um, let me think," he said, closing his eyes. "Ah, he was in his mid-thirties, early forties maybe, medium blond hair. He was wearing a suit. According to the visitor's log, the name was, ‘Son of Adam’,” Doctor Benson explained. "We called up security following the computer processing the invalid name but he had already left.”

“That’s disheartening,” Marcus said. "They may be linked to those cultists, the Church of God’s Deliverance that got busted yesterday night.”

“Dammit, more paperwork,” I groaned.

“We’ll have to report this,” Marcus said, seriously.

“If you ask the hospital administrators, I’m sure they’ll cooperate with releasing the security footage.”

Marcus nodded, turning to me.

“Make sure when we get back to the station to get an extra uniform to watch Miss Johnson. She might be in danger.”

“Got it,” I nodded.

The elevator opened to the recovery wing. Two nurses entered the elevator as we exited. Turning a corner, we headed down a long hallway sparsely populated by orderlies and the occasional blue of a nurse’s scrubs. Reaching a room just before the corner to another hall, we stopped. It was the correct room number from the email. Looking through the glass door, we saw the woman dressed in a hospital gown watching the television. She must have noticed our presence for she turned to us. Opening the door, Marcus and I followed as Doctor Benson walked in.

“Hello Miss Johnson, how are you feeling?”

She nodded her head. “I’m doing well. A little sore but I’m fine.”

She turned to us. Her smile turned to concern.

“These are the officers that arrived at the scene. They’re here to ask you a few questions regarding the incident, if that’s okay?”

“It’s fine. I thought I was in trouble since I was part of their group.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Johnson. We’re just here to gather a statement. You’re not in any trouble,” Marcus smiled, reassuring the woman.

Her face relaxed.

“Thank you," she smiled. “But, um, can it be only one person, please? I get stressed out when there’s a lot of people, you know?”

Marcus turned to me.

“Morgan why don’t you talk to Ian outside,” Marcus asked. “I’ll handle this.”

“Sounds good to me,” I agreed, turning to the woman. "Are ya sure ya’ll be fine with just my partner?”

“Yes," she said in a long drawn out breath.

“Alrighty, I hope ya recover soon.”

She smiled at me.

“Thank you Officer Morgan," she said, flatly. “I appreciate your concern.”

I blinked. I thought I saw something else when she smiled, something in her eyes. I furrowed my brow. Maybe I was overthinking it. Turning, I noticed that Marcus had taken as seat beside her.

“I’ll meet you back in the lobby," he said. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”

“Right.”

I turned back to Doctor Benson.

“C’mon, let’s go," I said.

I followed him out of the room and back into the hallway.

“Want to talk here or do you want to go somewhere else?”

“Cafeteria,” I flatly demanded.

He chuckled.

“Of course, right this way," he said, ushering me to follow him.

I walked with him to the elevator with anticipation of a bite to eat. After a few minutes, we arrived at the Plaza Cafeteria in the first floor atrium on the hospital campus, we went to a sandwich kiosk. I hummed in bliss as my orders were prepared, the savory smell of melted cheese and meat made me drool. Taking our orders and sitting down at a table beside a pillar surrounding the open atrium, I took out my notepad and pen. The atrium was sprawling and bustling with activity. I had to raise my voice in order to rise above the ambient noise.

“Alrighty, let’s get this interview done with,” I cheered, stuffing my face with a handful of fries. "Please state your name, relevant personal information, occupation and educational background for the record and blah, blah, blah.”

Doctor Benson chuckled taking a sip of his soda.

“My name is Ian Alexander Benson, M.D. I’m twenty-eight years old from Chicago, Illinois. I am the son of a graphic designer and a lawyer. I have a baby sister, Jenna who’s starting college in the fall. I’m a licensed emergency physician and surgeon’s assistant at Mount Sinai Hospital. I earned a Bio pre-med degree from the University of Illinois in Chicago before transferring to Pritzker School of Medicine of the University of Chicago where I completed medical school before securing a residency position in the emergency medicine wing of Mount Sinai Hospital two years ago. I’ve been here ever since.”

“Wow, impressive resume,” I praised, my face in its normally dull-looking state, chomping down on my Panini. "Alright, can you explain when Miss Sharon Johnson, twenty-three, arrived to the emergency room on Friday morning?”

As he explained, I scrambled to hear him speak over the chatter of the dozens of other people passing us by. I had to lean closer to him as I did so, barely a foot away. My mouth was stuffed with the last bites of my sandwich as we finished.

“Alrighty,“ I said, stone-faced. "Thanks for the statement, Doctor Benson.”

“Please, call me Ian," he smiled. "Marcus is a close friend of mine so a friend of his calling me so formally seems awfully strange.”

“Alighty Ian, name’s Morgan,” I gave a toothy grin, extending my hand.

“Nice to meet you, Morgan,” he said, shaking my hand.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, I did not have to be so cringingly polite. I always hated being so formal. Then his phone went off.

"Sorry, I have to take this.”

I nodded. He went off to the middle of the atrium to take his phone call. In the meantime, I finished my order of fries and walked back to the shop for a second order. Coming back, I found he was sitting back in our spot.

“Yo,” I said, casually with my hand raised as I sat back down.

“A second order?”

“Yup,” I nodded, grabbing onto the nice pastrami melt. "If Marcus was here he’d scold me for eating too much.”

“Sometimes you just aren’t satisfied with one order," he laughed.

“I know right? Finally someone that gets me,” I mumbled, my face stuffed with bread. "Marcus should have realize that about me by now.”

“So you’ve been partners with him for five years now, huh?”

“Five this November,” I corrected, chewing. "He’s been my partner since I got straight out of the academy.”

“And all this time I had yet to meet you," he smiled, resting his head on one of his arms. "To think he never introduced me to you.”

“I guess so,” I said.

He did not reply.

“He never mentioned you,” I said, taking a big gulp of soda. "I didn’t know he had a doctor friend—well, actually that’s wrong. He never mentioned you by name.”

Ian seemed amused by this.

“It’s always work and his family for Marcus," he sighed with a smile. "Even when we’re out for drinks.”

“Hmm, that’s too bad. You should have seen him on Sunday. I swear he was shitfaced as hell.”

“Really?" He said, leaning closer in interest.

“Really,” I said. "He got his ass beat by one of our friend's wife. When she came to pick him up to go home, Marcus was—”

I whispered into his ears the lewd acts they did.

“What the hell? Really?”

“Yup,” I said. "When she found them, she suplexed our friend before tossin' Marcus across the room.”

Ian pressed his forehead to the table laughing his lungs out.

“Oh, my god. I wish I could have seen it.”

“Hahaha, I know right?”

The laughter slowly died down as neither of us had anything else to continue on the conversation. I went back to my sandwich. Ian was nursing his soda. I took a bite and stuffed my cheeks with fries. When I finally was able to breathe again through the glue-like cheese preventing me from speaking, I caught him in the corner of my eye looking at me eat. His expression wasn't anything I recognized.

“What?” I asked.

“I was just wondering what Marcus’s wife said.”

“She doesn’t know,” I replied.

“Tasha doesn’t?”

“Nope, I drove Marcus home right after that.”

“Huh, must be a hard life for Marcus, being married and all. Tasha’s very, um, diligent.”

“I swear she treats him like a doll sometimes,” I laughed.

“Man, I’d never be able to handle someone like that. I like more laid back and lax girls, you know?”

“You’re not married?”

He laughed. "Nope, I’m the last out of my group of friends to be single. Living the bachelor life.”

He leaned back and exaggerated a relaxed position.

“Why’s that?” I asked. "You look like you’d be the guy walkin' with a gal on each arm."

This seemed to amuse him because he laughed as if I had made the most amusing joke.

“I’ve had plenty of girlfriends before which all worked well and ended on amicable terms. But I was too busy with getting my career in order so being in a relationship just went to the back burner.”

“I see,” I said, unable to find a more poetic way of replying.

“Ah huh," he smiled in amusement. "What about you?”

“Huh me?”

“You seeing anyone then?”

I met his eyes, confused and caught off guard at his question.

“Me?” I asked, laughing. "What makes ya say that?”

“Well, I know we just met and all but I would have assumed someone like you would have already been snagged," he said, his tone was genuine. "Sorry if that’s too personal.”

I cut him off with my raised hand. I was laughing at his absurd statement.

“Snagged? What’cha talkin' ‘bout buddy?” I laughed it off, taking off my gloves to show my ringless fingers. "You mean my sailor’s mouth and sloppiness? Or my bumpkin manners or my boyish looks?”

“I mean you’re humor and wit. Talking to you is easy like if I was talking to a click sw friend and we just met. That's something everyone seeks, an easy conversation. " he said with an innocent smile. "You’re a catch, believe me. Not to mention that accent. You from the countryside, right?”

“Yup,” I nodded.

“You do have that Brooklyn drawl but I'm getting a more rural twang than from someone that lived their entire life in New York.”

“I was born and raised up north in a seaside town. I came to New York eight years ago to be a cop.”

“I see. The accent’s quite alluring, to a certain type,” he said, flashing me a warm smile, his eyes too were smiling. “But I'm sure you get that from all the men am I right?”

My eyes widened in surprise as he said this. I was caught off guard. Pursed my lips, I looked down, slightly embarrassed. I don't often get complimented about anything really, especially not the way I spoke. In fact that’s often what I get teased about, being a yokel and all. But he said it was nice, weird. It was different. And I wasn’t sure if I was a fan of this new thing.

“Hehehehe, ya the first to say somethin’ like that,” I said, swallowing another bite.

“That’s not true. I’m sure you’ve had at least someone compliment you on it.”

I thought for a moment, furrowing my brow.

"Well there is this one person.”

“See, I told you,” Ian beamed. “Who was it?”

“Travis, my next door neighbor growing up. He was my best friend.”

“Are you and him?”

I looked up at him and shook my head vigorously.

“Of course not,” I shot down. “He’s twenty years older than me.”

He frowned.

“And he was your best friend?” He asked, concerned. “A man twenty years your senior?”

I shook it off and blew a raspberry.

“Ah, what’s with the face? He was harmless, besides, I’m an adult now,” I said, waving his concern away. “He was my babysitter growing up. Since I lived out in the boonies, I didn’t really have any kids my age to play with so my parents would send me over to his house to play. He was my best friend...well, he was my only friend really until I moved to the city.”

I took another bite.

“Your only friend?” He asked. “What about the kids in school?”

“Hahaha! Have ya seen me? Who’d be friends with someone like me? Besides, I could never really relate to kids my age anyway. Travis on the other hand could. Since he was older, he knew how to make me feel better.”

I smiled, reminiscing. Ian was frowning.

“He was always there for me, listenin’ to my secrets and things I couldn’t tell my dad,” I said, looking down at my sandwich. “I wonder what’s he doin’ now.”

I looked to the sky light that poured light into the atrium.

“I hope he’s doing alright.”

"What’s he doing now?”

“I don’t really know,” I confessed. “I lost contact with him right before I started high school. He moved away ‘cause he got some high paying job in the city. I tried to find him but never could track him down.”

“He must have meant a lot to you,” he said, smiling. “He seems like quite the guy.”

“He was,” I nodded. “At least from what I remember.”

I lowered my head to hid my face, chuckling.

“Ya'know, I even promised when I grew up to marry him one day when I was a kid,” I smirked.

“What?” He chuckled. “Sounds like something from some anime.”

“I had no idea what it meant when two people were married,” I said. “I noticed since when two people loved each other very much they were always married. And I loved him so much but I had no idea about the difference between romantic and platonic. He just laughed and entertained my promise as any adult would have at that. Lookin’ back at it now, it’s so embarrassin’.”

I covered my red face and groaned.

“Well, I think it’s very endearing,” Ian laughed heartily at my expense. “I’m sure any man would be elated to hear you say those words.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I replied, waving my hand. "I haven’t even had a date let alone suitors.”

I took an awkward sip of my soda. Looking up, I saw his astonished eyes.

“Really? You’ve never been on any dates?" He asked with a faint hint of a smile. "I find that hard to believe.”

“Yup, not a single date in my twenty-six years on this earth,” I groaned, stuffing my face with fries. "The only time I was ever asked was in ninth grade. But he only did it out of losin' a bet. Haha, call me an old spinster.”

I laughed at my own joke but as I looked up, his face was serious. I stopped my laughter, chomping down on my sandwich to avoid speaking.

“What an asshole," he frowned. "I’m sorry that happened.”

“Eh, that was a long time ago,” I replied, waving his concern away. "I got over it that same day with a double cheeseburger and milkshake.”

I laughed. The atmosphere seemed to lighten back up since he smiled. That was good. I never liked a bad mood when I ate. Silence overtook us for a bit as I finished my second order. I contemplated ordering another but decided against it. As I returned the tray to its designated spot, I felt my phone vibrate. It was Marcus. He was done with the interview. From the time, it was already an hour and a half since we arrived at the cafeteria. Turning back, I walked towards Ian.

“Marcus’s done with his interview, we should head to the lobby.”

“Right," he replied, getting up. "Let’s go.”

Crossing the atrium and heading down a hallway, I noticed in the corner of my eye Ian glancing occasionally at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. I was just thinking," he said.

“About what?” I asked, jokingly. “What’cha lookin’ at me for? If ya got somethin’ to say then say it. Ya midwesterners are always so indirect.”

“I was planning on going out for dinner with Marcus this weekend. He and I haven’t been able to meet up for a few months," he explained. "And I was thinking. Why don’t you tag along, Morgan?”

“Me? Why?” I asked.

“You’re his friend, after all. And I’d like to know a little more about my friend’s partner. After all, you’re the one watching his back every day," he said. "And I’d like to get along with you too, Morgan. If that’s not being too pushy so soon, of course.”

I nodded. Wait! Hold the flipping banana phone. Was I making a new friend today? I was, wasn’t I? Or at least, I was making an acquaintance, either way was awesome. I mentally back flipped at the prospect. I didn’t really have many friends outside of work so this was exciting. I had to play it cool.

“Why not? My weekend’s pretty barren, anyway,” I nodded. "It’s a good excuse to get out of the house.”

I nodded at him and I thought I saw something in his eyes.

“Great," he smiled back.

“Any place in particular you’re thinkin’ of?”

“Marcus and I agreed on our usual haunt. It’s this nice seafood place downtown.”

“Ah, I see,” I said, interested. "But does it have mussels?”

“It has all the seafood you can imagine," he grinned, energetically.

“Alright, I’m game,” I said, eagerly.

“That simple, huh?”

I patted him on the back.

“Listen Ian, ya’ll have to realize that anythin’ with food is alright with me.”

“Of course," he grinned.

We laughed as we headed down the hall to the lobby. After a few minutes of walking, we entered the final hallway before the lobby. Entering the lobby, I spotted Marcus engrossed in a teen magazine.

“Eh, Marcus?” I asked, raising my eyebrow and frowning. "What’cha readin’?”

He turned to us and shot up from the chair.

“Uh, nothing. I—I was just, um, researching stuff that Brianna and Kelly would like.”

“I see,” Ian nodded in serious agreement.

“You actually believed him?” I gawked.

He walked up to Marcus and was also reading the teen magazine. They were each holding a corner and sharing the magazine. Their faces were serious. Ian was rubbing his chin with his hand as if inspecting a fine art piece. Marcus was looking at it as if he was defusing a bomb. What’s with this jovial aura? These two were such dorks. I scratched my head trying to analyze what I had just seen. Sometimes, I wondered about Marcus. Then I laughed.

“Marcus,” Ian said. "I was thinking of inviting Morgan to come along with us for dinner this Saturday. Is that alright?”

Marcus had returned to his normal state.

“Yeah, of course it is,” Marcus said, turning to his friend. "We’re still going to Lure on Saturday, right?”

“Ah huh, eight o’clock.”

“Good,” Marcus smirked. “Well, we better get going. We need to head back to the station. The detectives are going to need this.”

He lifted his legal pad.

“Alright, I should head back and make my rounds. I’ll pick you guys up Saturday night,” Ian said, waving us off.

“See you then,” I said.

I turned away from him. For the first time since what the day of the shooting, I genuinely smiled. My heart felt light as we exited the lobby and back into the street. I bounced out of the glass doors. The rain had stopped and everything was soaked. Entering the patrol car, I started the engine.

“Anythin’ from the interview?” I asked as Marcus entered the passenger seat.

“Apparently the Church of God’s Deliverance, that cult, was being investigated by the Brooklyn precincts on child abuse. They were trying to sacrifice a kid as an offering to bring about Jesus and the end of the world. But when the kid escaped, they decided to do this to escape being arrested.”

“Shit. Sacrifices, what the fuck man?”

“I don’t know, Morgan,” he replied. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

“Yeah. And the man that visited her?”

“She didn’t give me a concise answer. I’ll have the detectives handle the follow up interview.”

I nodded as I pulled out onto the street heading back to the station.

“Let’s get back to the station. It’s noon now,” I pointed out. "I could go for some lunch.”

“Didn’t you just eat?”

“How did you know?”

He pressed his fingers to his mouth, telling me I had something on my face.

“You got crumbs all over your face," he smirked.

I looked myself in the mirror. I sank down into my chair and cringed at my messy face. Don’t tell me it was like that since we were at the cafeteria. Marcus simply laughed in amusement as we sped down the rained out street.

  
  



	4. The Shattering Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a quiet night at home, Morgan is finishing up the report on the Tennis Center Massacre. As she does, she gets two phone calls both with different news for her.

****I loved the night. As cliché as that sounded, it was true. It was the only time that I got any peace and quiet in this city. Sometimes when I thought back of those bygone days of my childhood, I missed the quietness of the countryside, the slowness and carefree air that would envelope me when I would sit on the porch of my neighbor’s house, sipping a nice ice tea while watching the clouds with him. I smiled. I missed those days sometimes. But they were gone now and only the sounds of the city kept me company. Not even my favorite haunt was quiet enough for me. And while it did at least have some decent cigars and liquor, it was just too populated. But I digress. Work was always busy or tiring. If Marcus and I weren’t scheduled on patrol duty, we were in our cramp and air conditionless, office room suffocating under a blanket of stagnant air. At home with the air conditioner on, I was able to just relax in nothing but my most comfortable attire for home, a pair of XL men's boxers and a tee-shirt. However, with my fucking hips, they might as well have been tights. I know it's strange, a woman wearing men's underwear. When I looked myself in the mirror whenever I went to work, I had to laugh. In the locker room, the other woman at the station always questioned me on why I wore men’s boxers, the plaid kind too? I always told them it was because they were more comfortable, which was true. In the end of the day, no matter how unattractive it sounded for a woman to be wearing men’s underwear, being comfortable was all I cared about. Besides, there wasn’t any guys interested in me so why bother trying to impress or dress up? What was I some doll? Being able to just relax on the couch and watch bad movies and stuff my face with cheese puffs was a welcome change of pace. Unfortunately, tonight was not one of those nights.

We were finishing up the Tennis Center Shooting Cult case. All I needed to do now was fill out one final report and hand it to the detectives tomorrow, Friday morning, and let them conclude it. Sitting on my couch in the living room, I had my laptop in front of me. The manila folder with the lab results, crime scene photos and all other auxiliary paperwork was stuffed to the brim like an overfilled sausage casing. So help me if I dropped it and it spilled all over the wood floor. Luckily, it was in the middle of the coffee table, behind my laptop. I had some creepy pasta video playing in the background as I typed out the twenty-page report. It was so strenuous to say the least. To fill out every minute and seemingly insignificant detail of my day, my mental state at the time, my fears, and every grotesque and vivid nightmare I’d rather forget forever than have to write out in excruciating detail was exhausting. They even had the ‘courtesy’ to give me a copy of the surveillance footage to assist in my report.

I opened the video file. After a few minutes of letting it buffer as I wrote, I unpaused it. It was relatively good in quality for cctv footage. The audio was fine from what I could hear and the angle of the camera gave me a full and yet intimate view of the site of which all hell broke loose. It reminded me of the quality of those convenient store cameras in those cop shows I used to watch as a child. The video was sped up so it was only fifty-seven minutes long, out of an original four hours and fifty-one minute video feed. It would often go back to its original speed at certain spots. The most notable and longest was from the initial moment the fourteen individuals, the cultists, entered the tennis court to when we arrived and when the gunman shot himself. All in all, it comprised fifty minutes out of the fifty-seven. When I watched over what happened prior to Sanchez and Roberts arriving at the scene, I grew confused.

I knew they were ‘willing participants’, save for Miss Johnson, but it seemed surreal. This didn’t make any sense. Why did they just sit down and even smile as he waved his gun around. He was spewing some verse in Leviticus, I think. It looked like he was giving a sermon. The people were sitting cross legged in a school circle like how we found them. They were chanting and singing like those crazy fundies of Manson or Bundy. Miss Johnson was laughing, too. However, I could tell it was a nervous and fake laughter. She didn’t want to be there, especially with a crazed man with a nine-mil just inches from her. About twenty minutes into his spiel, he stopped. He then said the same verse he said to us before he killed himself. Then he raised his pistol to the first woman’s head and then shot. The crackle of the round splintering through her head was deafening and rippled down my spine. No one flinched; no one even blinked an eye, save for Miss Johnson. It was as if they were mesmerized, enchanted by his words. From the angle of the camera just above the Tennis Center doors, I could see she was visibly shaking. Her eyes told me that she realized that this day she was going to die. Luckily for her, Sanchez and Roberts arrived and intervened. However, what I wasn’t expecting was how skilled and precise the priest was with the gun. I skipped the part where they died. The gunman was almost robotic in the way he wielded the gun.

I closed the video. I didn’t want to see Sanchez’s death. I was at a loss of words at what I saw. How could someone give so much up for a belief, for a foolhardy cause? Was their mission so important that it was worth losing their lives? I never could relate to those people that claimed they were ready to die for a cause they believed in. Who was that foolish? What about ‘live to fight another day’? The cultists were most definitely delusional or so effectively seduced into that world that nothing else mattered. Not their poor families they left behind, not their careers or friends, nothing but the empty promises of a man of God and belief in that fantasy. It made me almost pity them if they weren’t so stupid. It was unfortunate that children were part of their world. Who knows how long, if at all, it would take to treat those children and have them ready to live in the regular world again? It was a sobering notion.

I sighed and leaned along the couch’s soft cushions on my side. I continued to type the report, giving every minute detail into what happened. It was a grueling task but it was slowly getting done. Looking at my laptop’s clock, I exhaled. It was nine forty-six. The sky had already darkened and the city was rising for another night of debauchery and partying. I could hear someone, two women’s voices outside in the hallway of the apartment laughing. They must have been getting ready to leave for a night out. Turning back to my report, I frowned. Sighing, I continued to type making sure I saved every few sentences less my internet connection failed. Suddenly my cellphone rang.

Checking the phone, I returned to my work. I didn't recognize the number so I refused to pick it up. It must have been a wrong number or a fucking telemarketer because no one I didn’t know ever called me at this hour. The only ones that really ever called at this hour were my squad mates, Marcus or Tasha. But this wasn’t any of their numbers. A few minutes later, my phone rang again; it was the same number. I ignored the call again. Reaching the halfway point of the report, I breathed. Just a few more pages to go of bullshit then I could go to bed. Inhaling, my ear crackled when my phone rang for a third time. I furrowed my eyebrows and grumbled in annoyance at the constant calling. Relenting, I picked it up. Once I told them they got the wrong number, I would be left alone. It was probably some telemarketer or scam. I was in a bad mood as I answered.

“Ayuh?” I asked, my voice exuding annoyance. “Who is this?”

“Ah, Morgan?” The voice asked. "Is this Morgan?”

It was a man’s voice.

“No, this is dog,” I said, making a stupid face. "No, I’m just kiddin’. Yes, this is Morgan.”

“Ah, finally,” the voice said. "I thought I’d never reach you.”

Who’s this?” I questioned.

“Huh? You don’t remember?” He asked. "We met on Tuesday at Mount Sinai.”

“Ian?” I questioned, removing my hands from the keyboard.

“Yup.”

“Ah, yes!” I gasped, my mood lightening. "Ah, how are ya?”

“Fine, I just finished my shift and was heading home when I thought I’d give you and Marcus a call about Saturday. I forgot to ask you for your address. It’s kind of important if I’m going to pick you and Marcus up, y’know?”

He lightly laughed. I smiled.

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” I laughed along. "How’d ya get my number? Did Marcus give ya it?”

“Yes, he did. I asked him yesterday when I realized I didn’t ask you.”

“Ah, I see,” I hummed in realization. "Makes sense.”

“I’m sorry if this roundabout search is creepy. I wouldn’t be able to ask you without it, y’know?”

“Don'tcha worry, Ian. It ain’t creepy at all,” I assured him with a smile. "I wouldn’t want’cha drivin’ ‘cross Manhattan lookin’ for me, after all.”

“Yeah, well now I have it and now you have my number.”

“So, you want my address?”

“Yes, let me grab my pen," he said. "Okay, ready.”

Telling him my address, I leaned back into the couch, kicking my feet onto the table. I yawned and cracked my back.

“Want me to repeat it?”

“No, I got it,” he said. “I’m impressed you live there. On a patrol officer’s salary, no less.”

“Eh, the owner owed me a favor so I let it slide for half price rent.”

“Haha, lucky you.”

“Do ya need Marcus’s address?”

“Ah, no. I’ve had dinner with his family many times before so there’s no need.”

“Alright, how about yours?”

“Mine?”

“Yeah, where do ya live? I’m guessing here in Manhattan ‘cause you’re a doctor and everything.”

“Well, I guess it’s only fair since you gave me yours. I live in Stuyvesant town.”

Stuyvesant town was a nice neighborhood in an affluent part of Lower East Manhattan. It was along FDR Drive and had a nice view of the East River and Brooklyn. Just two and a half miles up FDR Drive was the UN Headquarters. I knew the area; it was nice.

“Cool,” I said. "that’s a nice neighborhood, pretty expensive though.”

I could tell he was smiling from his voice.

“It is. But it’s worth it”

“So eight o’clock on Saturday?”

“Yes, should I come on up to meet you up at your apartment or wait outside?”

“Outside, and don’tcha worry. I’ll probably be out there already so there’s no need to wait up.”

“You really are something, you know that, right?”

“How so?” I asked, like I didn't know.

“Most girls I know, and I know this is a generalization, usually take hours to get ready to look their best," he laughed, kidding.

I laughed along. I knew he was exaggerating. but it had some truth to it.

“Well, that's because they actually care ‘bout their looks,” I laughed.

“Or maybe because they need makeup to look good unlike some girls,” he said, deliberately.

I could tell by his voice he was referring to someone, maybe a girl he liked that he knew? Ho, I hope that was right. I was gonna tease him ruthlessly for it later. This is what you get for being friends with me, Ian. I laughed to myself. Prepare to suffer like Marcus, muhahaha!

“Or because they know there’s a chance that a guy’ll make a pass at ‘em. I ain’t so lucky like ‘em girls,” I said, laying on my back.

“I see," he said. “Must be hard.”

“Not really. Doesn’t really bother me anymore. Too much work for the same results? Why bother?”

“Like what?”

“Y’know how guys always complain of gettin’ in the friendzone?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s me except I get brozoned.”

I heard him stifle a laugh.

“Brozoned? Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“Well I’ve had dudes I liked before but whenever I would ask them out they’d always turn me down.         ‘Sorry, but you’re like one of the guys’, y’know?”

“That sucks,” he huffed in amusement.

“Tell me ‘bout it. That’s why I’ve just stopped trying,” I laughed.

“I could tell.”

“How so?”

“Well, we’ve only met a few days ago but from my first impression you seem like a very carefree person, at least when it comes to yourself. It’s almost like you’re being carried off in the wind.”

“Hehe, my dad always told me I was an ungainly girl growin’ up.”

“Now that’s not true.”

“Hmm?” I asked, surprised.

“Ah, oh never mind.”

“No, go on say it,” I said, curious. "What’cha mean that ain’t true?”

He paused for a second as if thinking.

“Well I feel from my first impression of you that you don’t really care about what others think about you—I, um well, you seem like you like to eat a lot compared to other girls I’ve known—not that I’m disparaging you or implying anything about your figure—not that there’s anything wrong with it. I mean you seem like the sporty-type—not that I have any particular— oh, this is coming out wrong.”

I laughed at his rapid rambling. I barely understood what he was saying. He was speaking so quickly. This was far from the cool and collected man I saw back in the hospital. He was seriously being too funny right now. And it made me want to bully him a bit. But I would refrain myself for now. I felt a subtle pang in my chest for a second, almost so faint I nearly overlooked it. My laughter died a bit when I felt myself be mentally slapped back to reality. I breathed as I returned my attention to the phone. I could almost hear Ian’s heartbeat as he awaiting my response.

“Ian, it's cool,” I smiled through my voice. "I get what’cha sayin’.”

“Sorry.”

“Ha, it’s fine I said don't cry over this, okay? You’s a man ain’tcha?” I laughing at his expense. “What’cha a lil’ girl?”

“Ha, very funny, Morgan” he said, verbally smirking.

“Eh, I try to be,” I smiled, shrugging my shoulders.

“Alright, well I shouldn’t keep you. I talked to Marcus about a few hours ago. He said you two were working on some report, about the Tennis Center shooting, right?”

“That’s right, we’re slavin' away over a hot report.”

He chuckled.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then, unless, you want to talk about something else?”

“No, I’m good.”

"Alright," he said. "Well, goodnight then. I’ll see you at eight on Saturday.”

“Night, see you then,” I said.

Right before I felt he would hang up, I stopped him.

“W—Oh, and thanks.”

“For what?” He asked.

I paused for a moment.

“Just thanks, I guess. You’s need a reason to say thanks?”

From his voice I could tell he was accepting my strange remark. Then he snickered.

“I guess not, Morgan. You’re welcome.”

“Alright bye.”

With the beep of the phone, I put the phone back onto the table. I cracked my back and went back to the report. I sighed; only six more pages to go. As I typed, I felt my stomach growl. Getting up, I cross the living room to the kitchenette. Grabbing a large party-sized bag of cheese puffs, I headed back. Popping it open, I stuffed my face with the artificial cheesy delights. I looked out the east wall of the living room; the balcony window allowed me to see the sprawl across Central Park. I exhaled. The city was alive. Night was exciting and exhilarating but here in my tiny apartment with the sound of human activity on either side of the paper-thin walls, it was calm. I remember many a time I would just wander the dark streets of the city just to consume the sounds and sights of the city lights. Tasha was always concerned for me but I always took her warnings with a grain of salt. Sure I would feel like someone was watching me, but who didn’t? When you’re walking down an empty street, you get a little spooked. I giggled at the memory of Tasha’s scared face when I stopped by late at night completely trashed only to crash on the couch. It was safe to say Marcus was not blessed when he found me sprawled on his nice leather comforter. I smiled. Looked back to my messy table, I sighed. I was starting to lose the motivation to finish this report. Maybe some gaming would help? I shook the thought away. If I did, I’d be stuck in Azeroth or Tamriel until the morning. I didn’t need that right now. I grabbed a handful of puffs and went back to the report. This report needed to be finished. I really needed to go to bed soon if I was going to be awake enough to drive Marcus and myself to work.

About half an hour and several cringe videos later, I heard my phone go off again. Checking it, I found it was Marcus’s number. I pressed the receive call button. Tossing a few cheese puffs into my mouth, I scratched my ass before laying back down onto the couch.

“Mmh, Morgan here. What’s up Marcus?” I asked, still chewing.

“Hey Morgan, are you working on the report or are you eating cheese puffs again?”

“Hmmph, mmh, hah? You’s a wizard or something?” I asked, my mouth stuck together with cheese powder.

“I can hear you chewing," he said. "Besides, that’s all the food I’ve ever seen in your apartment. I can practically smell them from here.”

I could tell he was smirking under his breath.

“Oh, right,” I said. "Anyway, yes Marcus I’m writin’ out the report right now. I have, um, let me see. Ah, I have four pages to go. I’m at the part where I was in the bus with Thomas.”

“Tch, damn, you’re farther than me," he said.

“Ha! Is the all mighty Marcus losin’ his edge?”

“Shut up, Monkey," he said, smiling through his words. “I don’t want to hear that from you, you slacker.”

“Oo oo ahaha!” I shouted, making my best monkey impression.

Silence took us for a moment and then I felt it; I could tell Marcus was tensed.

“Marcus? What’s the matter? You

“Anyway, are you sitting down right now?”

His voice had changed pitch.

“Huh? Yeah, why?”

“I got a call from the Mount Sinai. Remember the officer we sent to guard Miss Johnson?”

“Yeah, did somethin’ happen?”

“Yes, something did.”

I sat up, straightening up. Something bad had happened. I knew it. Was I going to have to pull a nighter, tonight? Were we being called up?

“What happened, Marcus?”

“About forty minutes ago, Azeem and Ulrich were called up to Mount Sinai for a stabbing incident. It was in the recovery wing.”

“Shit, is Miss Johnson okay?”

“She’s dead.”

My heart sank. Damn it, she survived the shooting to die now? Was the officer there? What happened? All these questions rolled around my skull, finding no exit from my confused and panicked mind.

“Fuck, what happened?”

“Hold on a second," he said.

I heard him shuffling papers in the background.

“According to the on duty officer’s testimony, he says ‘I was in the bathroom for one to two minutes just down the hall while a nurse was checking on Miss Johnson’s medication. I then suddenly heard screaming and glass breaking. Rushing out of the bathroom, I saw that the glass wall of Miss Johnson’s room was shattered and that the attending nurse, a Miss Mary Carson, was laying on the ground with her throat slit,” Marcus said, his voice was robotic and flat as he read the report. "I saw that the assailant that killed the nurse was in fact Miss Johnson and that she had wiped the blood of Miss Carson on her gown into an inverted cross shape. She then made eye contact with me before proceeding to say some biblical verse before slicing her own neck and bleeding out.”

When he finished, we remained in silence. I could only hear his erratic breathing and my own for what seemed like hours. Then I spoke.

“This is really bad, isn’t it,” I asked, more so to myself than Marcus.

“Yeah,” Was all Marcus could muster.

For a moment, neither of us would speak. Then as I was about to, Marcus spoke.

“You know the verse that she said before she died? Do you?”

I had an idea but I didn't want to confirm it.

“What?”

“Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed,” Marcus read.

“First Corinthians fifteen fifty-one to fifty-two,” I replied, more as an inward facing question. “I looked it up a few days ago. Straight up fucked bonkers.”

Damn it! I thought she wasn’t like the other cultists. I thought she had become disillusioned to them.

“Now this is only my theory and it’s way too early to tell but I think when that visitor of hers came, that, ‘Son of Adam’, I think he was one of them and somehow convinced her to do it.”

“Could it’ve been that Father Adamson? I mean it’d make sense with Adamson, Son of Adam. It ain’t even creative.”

“Can’t be, he’s in Manhattan Psyche. He’s been under twenty-four hour surveillance since they arrested him Monday.”

Marcus breathed as if in thought.

I didn't speak. Turning my attention away from the phone, I crammed my hand into the orange chip bag. During this time, I mustn’t have noticed it but I had finished off the entire bag. I panic ate, yet another bad habit of mine. I sighed, grabbing a carton and lighter from the table. Pulling out a cigarette, I put it in my mouth and lit it. Inhaling the cool smoke and exhaling it, I turned my attention back to the phone.

“Or maybe she just flipped her shit and went crazy,” I suggested. "She saw a lot of bullshit back there.”

“Either way, this is beyond fucked, Morgan.”

“So what do we do now?”

“The detectives will handle this case and the Tennis Center one from here on out. We just have to hand in our reports and—”

“Wash our hands of this, right?” I interrupted.

I could tell he was nodding over the phone.

“Yeah," he said. "We’ve been on this case longer than we should've. We’re uniforms, Morgan. We shouldn’t be neck deep in detective's work.”

“You’s took the words right out of my mouth,” I said. "Anythin' else?”

“No, no. I just wanted to let you know the heads up. I’ll leave you to work on your report. I need to get mine done soon. Tasha’s picking me up in an hour.”

“You’re still at the station?”

“Yeah, when I heard what happened I headed over there.”

“Damn, I wouldn’t be able to live like that,” I joked.

“Ha, alright I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, oh and I almost forgot.”

“What?”

“Ian called me about an hour or so ago. He said he’ll pick me up at my place and then we’ll head to your house at eight on Saturday.”

“Right, okay. Thanks.”

“No problem. See ya tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

The beep of the phone told me the call ended. Placing it back down. I took another huff of my cigarette. I tapped the ash into the chip bag. Returning to my report, I sighed, running my hand through my hair as I stared at the bright screen. It was eleven thirty-seven. I guess I was getting five hours of sleep again. Sighing, I stuck the cigarette between my lips before the clanking of the keyboard drowned out the silence of the apartment. I heard police sirens blare on below, muffled by the glass. Their deafening screeches echoed through the shattering night

  



	5. A Friendly Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan, Ian and Marcus have a quiet night out after a long week. This night, Morgan and Ian learn a little more of each other.

**** The best thing about a hot shower was feeling like I had been through a car wash. I felt clean; that was something that was... hard for me to feel sometimes. I looked down at my little, wet feet and my gaze softened. Don’t think of it the wrong way; what I mean is that for someone like me who would generally only shower once a week, depending on how dirty I was at the end of the day, a hot shower felt like a hurricane ripping the filth like shingles from a roof. I felt sparkly, almost glowing as I waltzed to my bedroom. Entering it, I exchanged my towel and laid out the clothes I would be wearing tonight. I took a cig from my nightstand and lit it, taking a drag. Turning, I looked at my sparse wardrobe. Since from what Ian and Marcus had told me about this place, I was guessing sweatpants and a tank top wouldn’t suffice. I rummaged through my closet tossing a pair of black dress trousers, tailored pinstripe suit vest with a pocket chain, one of my extra white button ups and a red tie behind me. Most of my clothes were from the men's section anyway; they just felt more comfortable. I walked to the bed and changed. I pulled my pants up over my boxers, don’t ask; then I rolled up my sleeves to my elbows and made sure the fabric around my hips and rear were smooth, removing any creases. It was all tailored that contoured to my body closely and made me feel a little more fetching, even if it was just wishful thinking. I wasn’t used to these smart-looking clothes. It was as if I was dressing up for a banquet. Looking in the mirror, I deflated blowing a puff of smoke. I looked like a damn four-eyed mobster. All that was missing was a Tommy gun and a felt hat. I was wearing all men’s clothes, after all. My recent haircut wasn't helping either. Hopefully, I wasn’t overdressing. Checking myself in the mirror, I made a stupid face, shaking my head in amusement as I slipped into my men's dress shoes, a better-looking pair in my opinion since they were way more comfortable than heels any day of the week and gave me an inch in height. As I put away the leftover clothes and footwear back into my closet, I heard my phone go off in the living room. The sounds of gorilla and monkey screeches echoed through the apartment. Grabbing my wallet and tucking it in my back pocket, I exited the bedroom, turning off the lights. I grabbed my phone from the table. It was Ian.

“Ayuh?” I asked, taking a final drag before snuffing the cig out into the ashtray on the coffee table.

“Hey Morgan, you ready?”

“Yeah, I was just ‘bout ready to head on down now," I said. "Where ya at?”

“I’m about two minutes away. Traffic’s a bit heavy, though.”

“I hope this is on speaker,” I smirked, just a tad bit concerned.

“Morgan, come on. Who do you think I am? I’m a doctor," he said, jokingly. "The pinnacle of all responsible men.”

“Dammit Jim, I’m a doctor!” I said in a gruff tone.

“Damn it Bones. I need you. Badly!”

“Yes, Captain!” I saluted over the radio.

We laughed, maybe a little too hard.

“Alright, well I’m going to hang up now. I’m at the intersection.”

“Okay, I’m gonna head down now.”

“Alright, I'll meet you out front.”

Tucking my phone into my pocket, I walked back to the bedroom. I grabbed my towel for a last time to ring out my hair for as much moisture as I could. Tossing it into the hamper and brushing my chin-length bob hair before ruffling it back to its disheveled normalcy. Looking at the mirror, I chuckled. Alright, time for seafood! I headed back to the living room. Crossing to the front door, I took one last look. The place was a dump, shit was everywhere; everything was in all the right places from what I could tell. My apartment was never clean, shit was everywhere and seemingly out of place and yet I knew exactly where what was where. I turned back and entered the hallway. I closed the door and locked it. Heading to the elevator down the hall, I felt my phone go off again.

“Ayuh?”

“Hey, I’m down at the parking lot. You coming or what?”

“Keep yer panties in a bunch, Ian. I’m comin’.”

I smirked as I put away my phone again. Entering the elevator, I pressed the lobby button. A little speaker above me started playing some Billie Holiday. For as roachy as this apartment was, at least the owners had some good taste. Reaching the bottom, I stepped into the lobby. Turning towards the front doors, I crossed the room, waving Gloria, the receptionist. Stepping out into the humid air of the night, I spotted Ian. He was dressed business casual with a nice black blazer. His hair was styled in a thick wavy fashion that reminded me of those European model-types. I nodded when I saw him; he looked snazzy, the damn fancypants. I noticed he was leaning with his arms crossed against a bright and shiny sedan with a chrome silver finish. It was a damn fine-looking car and telling from the shape I recognized it as one of those new executive model cars. It was no surprise that Ian had a car like that. He was a doctor after all. It definitely wasn’t one of those six-figure cars men blew off during their midlife crisis but definitely steps above my dad’s hand-me-down junker, save for the sentimental value. Walking up to him, he turned to me and waved, a smile forming.

“Well, you sure dress to impress," he smirked, leaning against the car. "Are those… men’s clothes?”

“Oh ha ha,” I laughed, sarcastically. "I sure as hell am gonna dress up when I’m gonna brutalize some shellfish.”

I punched my palm in determination.

He laughed loudly.

“Besides, I feel more comfortable in men’s clothes anyway.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure you do,” he teased.

“Ah shaddup, ya big oaf,” I laughed, my face washed with heat. "Besides, I’d be caught dead wearin’ a dress.”

“Those clothes definitely work well on you. You look good.”

I grinned, playfully smacking him on the shoulder. "What’cha talkin’ ‘bout?”

He gave me a sly grin.

“Just pointin’ out what I see,” he said, attempting my accent.

I blinked. There he goes with the flattering. Then I shook my head.

“Thanks,” I said.

He gave me a teasing smirk.

“Ha! Anyway, shall we Mister Pickup Artist?” I grinned, cocking my hips.

“We shall," he chuckled, walking to the driver’s seat.

Unlocking the doors, we both slipped in. The seats were nice and comfortable and the interior was sleek and modern compared to the torn seventies-decor of my car. Leaning back and buckling up, I sighed.

“Tired?" He asked, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Nah, just gettin’ comfortable,” I said, crossing my arms behind my neck. "It’ll take us half an hour to get to this place of yours, probably more with all this traffic. It’s a Saturday night, after all.”

He hummed in agreement turning onto Central Park West.

I patted my pockets to check if I had forgotten anything.

“Shit,” I sighed.

“What is it?" He asked, turning to me. "Forget something?”

“I forgot my smokes,” I groaned.

“You smoke?" He asked, surprised.

“Yup started in high school,” I said.

“How much do you smoke? I hope not often; you seem fairly healthy. But then again, twenty-six is still young.”

“Not too often,” I replied. "I usually smoke a cig every few days dependin’ on what goes on.”

“What do you mean?" He asked, reaching an intersection.

“Stress,” I said, looking out the window.

“Like what?”

“Stuff at work.”

“Just work?" He asked, smiling sarcastically. "Nothing else going on?”

“Nope,” I smirked. "Believe it or not, my schedule is pretty sparse when work’s over.”

“No dates?" He asked, flashing me a knowing smile.

“Oh shaddup ya big oaf,” I laughed, punching him in the arm.

“Ow, oaf? Hey watch it," he cried out, jokingly. "I’m driving here.”

“Oh please, that punch wasn’t hard at all,” I snorted in amusement.

I laughed, noticing him stealing a few glances at me as I wiped my nose.

“But anyway, I don’t smoke much anymore, not recently anyway. I don’t really buy cigs on the regular, either. I usually buy a year’s supply on my birthday for myself and that ain’t much.”

“When's your birthday?”

“December,” I said.

“What day?”

“The Twenty-fourth,” I said.

“Interesting. Must have had your birthday presents as your Christmas presents, eh?" He asked. "My friend from high school had his birthday on Christmas Eve so his parents just consolidated the two days into one.”

“Hmm, I never had a birthday party,” I said.

“Really”

“We were country folk, ya think we gave a damn about birthday cakes and toys?” I asked, making an immature voice.

He nodded. “That’s too bad.”

“What ‘bout ya? When’s ya birthday?”

“April First.”

“Ha, April Fool's!” I exclaimed in a ridiculous voice. “I'll buy ya a pack then.”

“I don't smoke,” he replied.

“Oh, so health-conscious,” I joked, making a stereotypical nerdy voice. "Oh look at me, I’m Ian. I eat at Whole Foods with my all organic diet, nur nur!”

“That’s so attractive, Morgan," he rolled his eyes, sarcastically.

“Oh, ya should see me at ‘em parties,” I said, proudly. "By the time I’m done, everyone’s—”

“Gone home?" He grinned.

I made an unamused face.

“I wonder how Marcus deals with you?" He asked, laughing.

“Hah? How could he not deal with me? ” I shot back, crossing my arms. "I was the one who got him and Tasha together, after all.”

“Quite the matchmaker, eh?”

“Ah huh.”

“To think that you two would have wind up together and being the ones that busted that cult case four years ago.”

“Yeah, it was a bitch, especially since it was my first case. Who the fuck knew New York had so many freakin’ cults?”

“Really, that’s some crap luck," he said, amused.

I sighed.

“It was a.. difficult year.”

I stopped myself.

“You were quite famous for a while after that," he said, seeing my uneasiness. "To think a rookie straight out of the academy would become a national hero.”

“National? You’re blowin’ it out of proportion,” I waved him off, flushed. "Besides, they totally forgot about me in a week.”

“They made a documentary on the case. You were surprisingly professional.”

“I had to, my boss Patterson had me on a leash.”

He hummed.

“But back to your point. Marcus’ ‘struggles’ with me everyday ain’t nothin’ compared to back then and no way comparable to when he’s home. Compared to our first case together, life with Tasha and the kids is way bigger of a challenge. So for him to deal with me is like a walk in the park.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you’re the one that hooked him and Tasha up,” Ian nodded. "I remember him telling me about that.”

“Yup, she was the legal adviser to the case me and Marcus were working on. Marcus was head over heels for her but he was too embarrassed to make the first move, surprisingly enough. So I had to push a few buttons, schedule a few dinners between the three of us that I ‘unfortunately’ had to miss. And the rest is history.”

“Were you there during the wedding?”

“Yeah, I was,” I said.

“Where did you sit? I didn’t see you there," he asked.

“I was standin’ by one of the pillars in the back," I said. "You?”

“I was in the front.”

“Ah, I see. Where were ya at the banquet?”

“I was sitting with his other college friends. You were sitting at his table, right?”

“Yup,” I smiled.

“Why didn’t I see you there?”

“I was probably either at the bar gettin’ drunk, takin’ a dump or stuffin’ my face at the seafood table.”

“You really are something else," he chuckled. "Hooking those two up.”

“Hey, maybe it’ll work again with you, Mister Bachelor,” I teased. "My friends do tell me I’m a good matchmaker, five without fail, after all.”

I laughed at the memory.

He whispered something to himself that I didn’t quite hear, something about ‘except you.’

“You said you met him in college, right?” I asked.

“Ah huh, I was a freshman in college. I was living in the dorms. He was my RA.”

“Ah, I see. So you’ve known him for ten years, huh?”

“Yes, I was a sophomore when he graduated. He moved back to New York while I stayed back in Chicago. I thought we’d never get to hang out again. But then—”

He stopped.

“But what?” I asked.

He smiled.

“Then I got a letter in the mail. I was approved for my residency program at Mount Sinai," he said, peeking his gaze to me. "I guess you can say it was fate.”

“Nah,” I waved him off, skeptically.

He chuckled as we stopped at an intersection.

“Perhaps.”

Turning right, we entered a residential street. The street was dimly lit, save for the faint orange of old street lights. I saw a group of teens, probably drunk, pass us by as we cross an intersection. Marcus’ house was up ahead and I could see his and Tasha’s silhouettes on the concrete steps. Slowing, I stuck my head out the window.

“Oi! Yo Marcus, we’re here,” I exclaimed, excitedly.

He turned to us. He was dressed in a nice pair of slacks and a plain button up.

“Hey Morgan, hey Ian," he smiled. "Just in time, too. I was just about to call you guys.”

“Time is of the essence, Marcus. Our reservations are at exactly at eight forty-five,” Ian said, exaggeratedly. "We better get going or else we might get screwed over.”

“Right,” Marcus nodded, pecking Tasha on the lips before walking to the backseat.

“Have a safe trip you guys,” Tasha grinned.

“You bet’cha,” I saluted, sticking my tongue out goofily and winking.

“Will do,” Ian smiled. "How’s Kelly and Brianna?”

“They’re wonderful. Brianna turned four on Wednesday," she said, smiling proudly.

Ian’s face brightened.

“Oh wow, well tell her I said happy birthday. I’ll buy her a little something next time we have dinner.”

“I will Ian.”

“Alright, let’s go!” I shouted, pointing to downtown.

After Marcus slipped into the backseat, Ian pulled out into the street. Waving Tasha off, we rode off down the road. Turning a corner, we headed south on Broadway. From what the GPS showed, we were heading down there for a while until West Houston Street, at least thirty minutes. Looking over my shoulder to Marcus, I grinned.

“So,” I drew in a long breath. "What’cha have to do for Tasha to let’cha go tonight?”

He shot me a venomous glare.

“Oh haha, you’re so hilarious," he said, sarcastically.

“I try,” I smirked.

“Morgan, quit teasing Tasha’s Manservant—I mean, Marcus.”

I laughed, turning back to Ian.

“I can’t help it. The hits just keep comin’ with those two.”

“Morgan don’t make me confiscate your snacks back at the office.”

I gasped.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would and I will," he said. "The ceiling panels can’t hide the smell of those chili lime chips from Patterson forever.”

We stared at each other for a moment, sparks shooting back at each other. I was contemplating my options, blueprinting my escape route, formulating my contingency plan on this matter.

“Okay, I’ll stop,” I relented.

“Good,” Marcus sighed, leaning back into his seat.

I turned back to the front, a devilish smile forming on my lips.

“At least for tonight.”

“Anyway,” Ian said. "How was work?”

“Eh, the usual,” I shrugged. "Today we not were on patrol so all we did was sit in the office all day and fuck around with paperwork and shit.”

“Necessary paperwork, I might add.”

I rolled my eyes.

“C’mon, Marcus,” I groaned. "Even ya?”

“Yes, those maintenance reports are an essential part of our duty.”

“Marcus! We spent over two hours on inventory alone.”

I turned to Ian for support.

“Do you have any idea how borin’ it is to file a twenty-page report on how many packs of pens and hand sanitizer bags we have at the station?”

He looked at me with pitying eyes.

“Paperclips shouldn’t make ya cry,” I faked sobbed.

“This is why I work the ER. At least there, the reports are important,” he said.

“I know right!?” I said, exasperated. "Christ, we’re supposed to be catchin’ perps, not staples. Who gives a shit about how many thumbtacks we have in stock?”

“Morgan,” Marcus pressed.

“Eh, whatever,” I groaned. "All’s I’m sayin’ is I’d rather be sittin’ in the patrol car gettin’ my snack on than doin’ useless reports.”

“Hey, you two. Come on, the day’s over. Let’s just have a nice night without worrying about work, okay?

“Sorry Ian,” Marcus said.

“Sorry, mom,” I blew a raspberry.

“Cute," he smirked.

I flinched. It caught me off guard. Clearing my throat, I turned on the radio.

_ After heavy fighting today, elements of the Saudi Eighth Armored Brigade and Tenth Mechanized Brigade have pushed into the capital city for the first time since Riyadh fell to the rebels in last December. Meanwhile, Anti-aircraft fire and burning oil fields light the night as the Arab Coalition continues to do battle for control of the Al-Qassim Region from the iron grip of the Najd rebels— _

_ They gave you life, and in return you gave them hell, as cold as ice, I hope we live to tell the tale. Shout— _

_ Tensions between North and South Korea heat up once again after the test firing of a nuclear-capable missile over the South Korean-controlled Baengnyeong Island— _

_ With the devastation of the Saudi oil fields, investors have projected the median US price of gasoline will continue to rise to an unprecedented six dollars a gallon. According to economic analysts, this dramatic increase may very well prove devastating to the still fragile economy— _

I turned off the radio.

“God, the world’s gettin’ depressin’ again,” I sighed. "War and more war, ‘economic collapse is imminent’. What else is new?”

“Shit, six bucks a gallon? I got to start biking again,” Marcus cursed.

“Look on the bright side, you two,” Ian said. "It could be worse.”

“Famous last words,” I joked. "Where’s your head? The sky?”

He turned to me for a split second before turning back to the road.

“What can I say?" He shrugged, smiling. "I’m an optimist.”

“Ha, that’s funny,” I snorted.

“How so?”

“Just look around you, Ian,” I said, extending my hands. "Ain’t nothin’ to be optimistic about.”

“Well, I see the world a little differently, I guess" he smiled, slyly.

Was he implying something with our height difference?

“How could I be a good doctor if I kept dwelling on the worst outcome and the unlikelihood of success?”

I didn’t answer.

“How could I look my patients in the eye and tell them the low percentage of success?" He asked, stopping at an intersection. "I have to try my best, even if the problem is insurmountable.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“A negative outlook usually leads to a negative result.”

“Ha, who said that?” I asked.

“No one, I think. I’d like to think I came up with it, myself.”

I hummed in contemplation.

“Hey Ian, what time is it?” Marcus asked.

“It’s eight thirty-one,” Ian replied.

“Where are we?” Marcus asked.

“We’re reachin’ East Fourteenth Street,” I said, looking at the GPS screen.

“We’ll be on time. It’s only ten minutes away,” Ian said.

Marcus nodded and sank back into his seat. The rest of the ride was quiet. None of us spoke as the passing beams of brilliance from the city lights flashed over us with the sounds of car horns and taxis drowning us in noise.

Pulling into a spot along the road just outside of the restaurant on Mercer and Prince Streets, I opened my eyes, rubbing the creeping tendrils of sleep from them. I heard the car engine turn off and Marcus and Ian stepping out onto the noisy street.

“C’mon, Morgan. We’re here,” Ian shouted over the hum of ambient noise, closing the driver seat door.

Stepping out, I was blasted with the horns and calls of hundreds of people walking along the sidewalk. We were just a block south from West Houston Street, a major west-eastbound artery of Manhattan. Consuming the roaring scene of the restaurant-dominated area, I followed Marcus and Ian into the glass doors of the unremarkable brick building. Once we were inside, my attitude of the place changed.

It was quite fancy. Chandeliers and the warm glow of their bulbs reflected off the many white-clothed tables and the well-dressed patrons. I had expected something a lot more rustic but it was quite elegant. We got on the line and slowly inched forward to the attending worker. After a few minutes, we reached the man.

“Good evening, sir. How may I help you," the man asked, bowing his head.

“Yes, I have a reservation for three,” Ian said, handing the man a slip of paper.

The man flipped through his folder, glancing at the slip of paper occasionally. Finding Ian’s name, he smiled.

“Very good, Your barside table awaits you," he said, handing Ian a slip of paper.

He then motioned for us to leave the quota as another couple greeted him. Entering the interior of the restaurant, Ian led us past other patrons and the white tables to the lavish bar towards the back of the restaurant. Beside the beautiful wood furnished bar with stools lining it, fully stocked I might add, we found our table. It was a nice and homey booth beside the south wall with a white wood table. Ian and Marcus sat on one side. I sat opposite from them. In this section there was probably a good thirty people. Despite this, this part of the restaurant felt homey and intimate, like the diner back in my hometown. The noise was acceptable but still lively. The restaurant in total probably had well over two hundred patrons. It was packed at the white tables toward the front. Here in the back it was much less crowded. The bar beside us was packed however, with a good dozen people sitting ordering drinks.

I smiled; this place was amazing. The atmosphere was far from what I expected, far from the formal nosebleed that I feared. I lowered my eyes as I leaned against the wood wall. The air reminded me of the crab and lobster shacks my dad brought me back in the day.

“What wrong?” Ian asked.

“Huh?” I gawked, looking up to reality.

He must have noticed how quiet I had become.

“You seem down all of a sudden," he said.

“Oh, it’s nothin’ really. This place just reminded me of my dad, is all,” I smiled.

Marcus smiled, knowingly. Ian must have caught whiff of what my tone was alluding to because he smiled, clearing his throat.

“I see," he uttered, curtly.

“Excuse me,” A woman’s voice suddenly called out from the surrounding noise.

We turned to the voice. A smiling woman greeted us.

“Hi, my name is Christine and I’ll be your waitress for this evening," she said, putting three glasses of ice water onto our table. "How is everyone doing tonight?”

“Wonderful.”

“Great.”

“Hmm.”

“Great, that’s good to hear," she said, handing us our menus. "Okay, how about we’ll start off with some drinks. What would you like?”

Ian chuckled.

“Don’t be shy, guys,” Ian smiled. "Tonight’s on me.”

Marcus’s eyes and mine widened.

“Are you sure, Ian,” Marcus said, hesitantly. "You don’t have to do this.”

“It’s been a long time since we last had dinner together, Marcus. Don’t worry,” Ian reassured, turning to me. "Besides, this is the first time Morgan and I get to chit chat in person outside of work and the first time we get to have dinner together, all three of us. I’ve been wanting to do this for years but never got around to it. Tonight’s special, a celebration if you will.”

My heart panged with much emotion from his words. I smiled, sniffling and wiping my eyes. I took his hands within my own much smaller ones, leaning over the table.

“Ian, I’ll never forget this,” I said, hiccuping. "Truly you’s the best friend my stomach’s ever wanted. May our friendship live long and prosper. And may yer wallet never be empty.”

He laughed at my over-the-top praise.

“That’s what’s important!" He said, impersonating the famous Austrian actor while looking up. "Valor pleases you, Crom.”

“So grant me one request," I joined, making a fist. "Grant me revenge. And if you do not listen.”

“Then to hell with you!” We both said before bursting out laughing.

The waitress laughed along, amused by the spectacle. Marcus gave a disappointed look but we both could tell he was laughing inside. When our laughter had died down. Marcus turned to Ian.

“Ian, are you sure about paying for us,” Marcus asked, reluctant. "You don’t have to.”

“Marcus please," he grinned. "You’ve been my friend for ten years. Don’t worry about it. You’ve invited me for dinner at your place so many times. It’s only fair.”

“Well okay then,” Marcus made a small smile.

I scanned over the menu. They had a nice selection of wines but I was more interested in the sake. There was a particular bottle of sake that was apparently, ‘clean and crisp’. That would go nicely with the seafood I was preparing myself to devour tonight.

“I’ll have the Junmai Daiginjo, Wakatake ‘Demon Slayer’,” I said. "And a handle of best rum.”

“Ah huh, very good choice," she smiled, nervously eyeing me.

“Dude, seriously? A handle of rum? You’re going to be completely shitfaced.”

“Hell yeah, I am,” I nodded. "I’m tired as fuck from this week. I need to unwine, eh? Eh?”

Ian snickered at my pun and Marcus facepalmed, jokingly.

“It’s fine. I kind of want to see a drunk Morgan.”

“No you don’t Ian,” Marcus warned with an amused grin.

“I’ll just have a glass of your Pinot Noir, Domaine Chevalier,” Marcus requested.

She nodded, writing down his order, turning to Ian.

“The Smuggler’s Blues, the Flor de Cana, Amaro Nonino with blackberry and cane sugar,” Ian smiled.

Writing down our drinks, she excused herself, leaving us to ourselves.

“What the heck did ya order?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. "I only caught the blackberry and cane sugar part.”

“It’s what I always order from here," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "It’s my favorite cocktail from here.”

I left my mouth agape, dumbfounded.

“Whatever suits ya I guess,” I huffed in amusement.

“So what’ll you have?” Ian asked.

“I think I’ll have the New York Strip,” Marcus replied, looking at his menu. "You?”

“The Red Snapper with papaya salad. What about you?” Ian asked me.

“Hmm, ah, I know. I’ll have this!” I said, excitedly pointing to multiple orders like a child. "And this, and this and this and this!”

“Are you serious Morgan? Don’t go overboard,” Marcus gawked. "Ian’s paying for us, after all.”

“Hey, he said not to hold back,” I shot back, defensively.

“Don’t worry Marcus, it’s fine,” Ian chuckled, amused by my enthusiasm. "In fact I would feel offended if Morgan held back her appetite on my accord.”

“But look at what she’s ordering, Ian,” Marcus said. "She’s ordering the Shellfish Plateaux Grande. That’s like two buckets worth of oysters and shrimp. And look, she’s ordering a dozen crab cake appetizers, the sushi sampler, a quart of salted caramel ice cream, and four lobsters! She’s a madman.”

“She’s a maniac, maniac on the floor!” I sang, strumming an air guitar.

Ian simply laughed in amusement.

“Hmmph, in my defense, those crab cakes for us to share,” I said.

“And the rest?”

“Hey, ya heard the man, I don’t wanna offend him so I’m not holdin’ back,” I said. "Besides, whatever I’m orderin’, you two are more than welcome to share, except the salted caramel. That’s mine.”

Marcus turned to Ian, astonished. He raised his eyebrows as if appeasing for Ian to come to his senses. Ian simply laughed, patting the man’s shoulder.

The waitress came back with our drinks. Mine happened to be a sake cup with a full bottle of rice wine and a glass with a large bottle of Spanish Rum to pour at my leisure. It was safe to say that Marcus was not amused.

“Hey, I’m payin’ for my drinks, don’tcha worry. " I reassured.

“Are you guys ready to order?” the Waitress asked.

Telling her our orders, the waitress left, surprised by mine.

Ian huffed in amusement as he took a sip of his cocktail.

“How is it?” Marcus asked.

“Sharp and sweet, just the way I like it," he smiled, turning to Marcus. "How’s the Pinot Noir?”

“It’s good. Very deep. I can tell it’ll go nicely with the steak.”

Downing a cup of sake then a swig of rum, I sighed.

“Booze me up, Scotty,” I smiled. "Went down as smooth as molasses. Oh and the Rum’s sharp as as knife.”

“Don’t drink too much," Ian said. "You’ll have no room for your…orders.”

“Eh, don’tcha worry ‘bout me,” I said, pouring myself another cup. "I may be short but don’t underestimate my appetite.”

He laughed. Marcus rolled his eyes.

Some time later, our orders came by. Marcus’s steak looked mighty juicy and Ian’s Red Snapper looked quite delectable. Before me, my seafood sampler plate was stacked a foot high. I rubbed my hands together before digging into the succulent shellfish.

“How’s the oysters?” Ian asked.

I had to peek over the side in order to see him; I must’ve looked like a gopher peering over the top. I was midway through slurping down an oyster when I flicked my thumb up in praise as I lapped up the juices.

“It’s good,” I said, the shell sticking out of my mouth.

“You know, oysters are an aphrodisiac,” Ian joked.

“Eh, it ain’t like I’m gettin’ laid, anyway,” I shrugged.

Marcus nearly choked on his steak trying to stifle a laugh.

Ian’s face was flushed.

“Well, okay then,” he said, amused.

Marcus and I erupted in laughter. Ian smiled as he began cutting into his Snapper.

“The steak is a lot better than last time I had it,” Marcus smiled, cutting a piece of the medium rare meat.

“Well, we did come late, last time,” Ian replied.

Marcus grunted as he went back to his meal. And so we set forth to conquer our respective meals chatting of family and the latest over the next hour or so. There was not much notable going on to recant but it was nice not to have dinner alone for a change. It made my heart feel light and my face brightened as I watched silently and laughed as Marcus and Ian recall a humorous tale of them flooding their dormitory basement with foam. Having nothing to say, I keep pouring myself cup after cup of the rice wine. While going through the shellfish, I grabbed the rum bottle and downed the last half in one take. Eventually, the half-gallon bottle of rum was gone and the sake along with it. During this time, I could feel myself becoming a lot lighter and more out of it. The drinks were kicking in. My normally dull-looking eyes became even more half-lidded.

“And remember when Jane walk down the stairs and screamed!” Ian laughed, leaning to Marcus.

“Oh yeah! She slipped and went head first in the foam, hahaha,” Marcus replied, sipping his glass of wine.

“And Courtney and Rebecca had to wade through the foam to find her.”

“Only for Tyson to grab them by their legs and drag them into the foam!”

“They thought it a freaking shark!”

“They freaked out!”

They laughed like maniacs. I hadn’t seen Marcus so energetic in a long while. It was nice to see Marcus so lively. Sometimes I forgot what he was like beyond work. Ian was laughing from the memories, too. It was cute to see him smiling, so eager to recant memories of his college years. It made me see him as a younger man than he was, not that he was old or anything. My college years went by so quickly, track and volleyball helped. I guess it was because I just wanted to get out or the fact I had no friends. I frowned as I stared at my reflection on the shiny oyster shells. Things were different now. They will be. I turned to my salted caramel ice cream. I began digging it as Marcus recalled a story of his days in the academy and how he had punched some asshole in the face. This went on for a while, what seemed like hours.

By the time Marcus and Ian had finished their meals and their nostalgic high of their escapades, I was down to my last lobster. The booze was all gone and to my chagrin, Marcus forbade me from ordering another bottle of rum. I could feel the alcohol flowing through my system and I knew by then I was really drunk, like shitfaced. It’d been probably two hours since we arrived. I was swaying, unable to keep my balance. I leaned my head against the wall for support. My head was airy and my vision was slightly blurry. Everything they said, no matter how mundane it was seemed to me to be the funniest thing I ever heard. My heart twanged at the glorious memory of the pounds of seafood. I doubted I would have another opportunity for such a meal for a long time. Finishing the last bits of the goods in my last lobster’s head, I noticed Ian looking at me. He had a small grin on his face and his hand was on his cheek. I didn’t recognize the way he looked at me. It was piercing and it made me feel as if we were the only ones here. The alcohol was definitely getting to me in order to dream of something as ludicrous as the thought of him staring longingly at me. I laughed. My eyes were droopy so it was hard to tell if he actually was staring at me. I tore a mussel from its shell and swallowed it before pointing the crab fork accusatively at the man. I furrowed my brows and my eyes were dull-looking. The words were in my head but my mouth refused to work properly.

“Oi, mista! What’cha starin’ at?” I asked, slurring. "You’s been watchin’ me eats me sushis, huh? Huh!?”

I pouted, snapping the tail of the remaining lobster with the juices splattering all over my face. I licked my hand of the salty brine like a cat as I awaited his answer.

“No, of course not," he said defensively. "I was just—”

“Imagining me in me panties, right?” I accused. "Ya big pervert.”

Intoxicated, I thought I had made the funniest joke in the world. I laughed hard and loud, snorting as I slammed my fist on the table repeatedly. I swayed slightly as my vision blurred with two Ians before me.

“You’s should’da seen ye face,” I chortled. "Oh, ‘my gawd she’s seen me!’ Haha!”

Marcus grinned turned to Ian, whispering something to him. Ian chuckled lightly to him and it made me mad.

“What’cha say, ye big oaf?” I asked, tossing lobster meat into my mouth. "You’s makin’ fun me?”

“Of course not,” Marcus grinned, suspiciously speaking like some manservant. "I was just telling how lovely it is that you have finally surfaced, Madam Gray. "

Ian joined in, sitting straight like a damn physician.

“Now Miss Gray, we were just thinking the fine decor,” Ian added, speaking formally.

I could tell he was lying by his dumb expression. Even as drunk as I was, I could tell... I think.

“Oh really?” I said, leaning closer to Ian.

Our faces must have been just six inches apart give or take a foot or five since I was drunk.

“Y’know, Ian,” I said, slyly. "If I—burp—If I was a woman I’d take ya home with me right now and show ye a good ol’ time.”

I leaned over the table, closer to him.

“I’d ruin ya,” I whispered. "I’d ‘specially ruin that ass, boy!”

Then I leaned back, slouching back into my seat. I laughed. Ian looked confused and stunned. I wonder why? It was just a joke, right?

“B—But… you are a woman, Morgan," he said.

“Hah? When’d this happen?” I asked, looking myself over. "Huh? When did I get these?”

I began groping my breasts in absolute astonishment. My hands were filled but there was still more of it beneath my button up. Where did these come from?

Ian leaned back, clearing his throat.

“Wow, they’re so soft,” I smiled, amazed. "Ian, come touch ‘em! They’re really soft! Like pillows!”

He waved his hands in protest, cowering in his seat.

“M-Morgan, I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“I guess I really am a girl,” I nodded to myself. "What a discovery!”

Marcus stood up.

“Well," he sighed, exasperated. "Ahem, I think it’s time to call it a night.”

“Good call, Marcus,” Ian exhaled.

“Hah? what’cha talkin’ ‘bout?” I snapped. "What time is it?”

Marcus checked his watch.

“It’s ten forty," he said. "We should both head home now. We have work tomorrow,” Marcus explained. "Besides Ian’s got to head home, too.”

I waved him off. An all nighter never hurt anyone.

“Ian can just crash at my place if he wants,” I suggested, swaying even more. "My bed’s big enough for two, haha!”

Ian looked nervous, his face red.

“Oi! What’s with the red face, doc?” I asked. "Not man enough to say what’cha want?”

I laughed.

“Just kiddin’,” I said, waving him off.

“Come on, Morgan. Finish your lobster,” Marcus said, unamused.

“I’ll get the waitress,” Ian gasped, waving for our waitress.

I grunted as I scraped the last of the lobster from its shell.

“How is everyone doing?” The waitress asked.

“Great,” Ian said, nervously. "We’re done here so can I please get the bill?”

“You most certainly may," she said, slipping him the bill. "I hope you enjoyed your meals.”

“It was wonderful. Thank you,” Marcus said.

Sliding his debit card, Ian smiled, slipping the woman what appeared to be, from the big letters, a hundred. She bowed her head in appreciation as she began gathering our dirty dishes.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ian said, getting up.

“Oh!” I saluted, lazily. "Okey dokey!”

Marcus slid out of the booth for Ian to get out. I wobbled out of my seat and gripped Ian’s shirt to steady myself. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and helped me walk. The restaurant was slowly emptying but it was still fairly populated. Exiting the restaurant and stepping out into the hot night air, I sighed. I closed my eyes as Ian helped me into the back seat. I heard Marcus go into the passenger seat. The car vibrated as I felt Ian pull out into the street.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” I heard Ian ask.

“She’s been worse,” Marcus huffed in amusement. "Just drop her off at her apartment and she’ll be fine.”

What a pal. I smiled to myself.

“Is she normally like this?” Ian asked.

They must have thought I had passed out because they seemed to think I was judging from the way they spoke.

“Not usually, Morgan told me she usually only gets drunk when she’s butthurt, bored or… sad.”

“Are you sure she’s okay? She seems pretty wasted?”

“She downed a bottle of sake and a bottle of rum,” Marcus said. "That’s nothing compared to last year’s Saint Patrick’s day. Christ, those poor barkeeps.”

He cringed at the memory.

I huffed in amusement.

“I can hear ye,” I said, smiling.

The two men chuckled.

“Alright let’s get you guys back home,” Ian said.

We drove off up Broadway, going the same path we used to head to Lure. The trip was silent, none of us spoke, save for a few quips in passing between them. We were too exhausted; I was totally done with life. My eyes were closed the entire time as I sank into the cloud-like seat, my head spinning from the alcohol. The lights of the city buildings flashed through my eyelids making dazzling sparks in my inebriated state as we drove for what felt like an hour. Slowing down, we finally reached Marcus’s house.

“Thanks for tonight, Ian,” Marcus said, getting out of the still running car. "It was nice to have dinner with you again.

“Likewise Marcus,” Ian said clasping the man’s hand in a clap. "Perhaps during the summer we can have a picnic.”

“I’m sure the girls would love having Uncle Ian come and visit.”

The two men laughed while I drooled, totally out of it.

“Next time’s on me, okay?” Marcus smirked.

“You got it,” Ian smiled.

Marcus then looked at me for a second before motioning for Ian to lean closer. He whispered something in Ian’s ear that made him frown slightly. He turned to me as Marcus whispered again deepening his frown and furrowing his eyebrows before making him chuckle lightly. I sighed, knowing what they were talking about.

“I understand,” Ian said, quietly. "Don’t worry Marcus.”

“Alright, great then. Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Right.”

“Alright Ian," he said, smartly with a grin. "See you later, Morgan.”

I grunted in response, too weak and tired to speak.

He chuckled to himself before departing for the house. Ian reversed the car before heading back to Central Park West. After a few minutes down the quiet residential streets, we reached the main road.

“Want me to drop you off or walk you to your apartment?” Ian asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Bwah, I don’t think I’ll make it,” I moaned, girlishly. "Carry me like one of ya French girls.”

“Apartment it is," he grinned.

Pulling into the parking lot, I smushed my face into the seat in front of me from the sudden stopping of the car. I groaned, unable to move in any coherent manner. I felt the door beside me open up and Ian tucking his arms beneath my armpits to lift me up. Pulling me out as gently as he could, he placed his arms on shoulders to steady myself. I opened my eyes slightly to see. I was basically being pushed forward.

“Note to self, next time easy on the alcohol," he laughed.

“Over my dead body,” I groaned. "I don’t need ye help, ye big oaf.”

I tried pushing him away but my strength was waning.

“Hey! Don’t do that," he protested, pulling me against his chest. "You’ll fall.”

I made a token resistance as he held me in his arms. Finding no way out, I relented. Finding me submissive, he loosened his grip. Looking up, my glassy, dull eyes met his. I ran my hand across his chest and he stiffened.

“Were ye always this big?” I asked in a whisper.

He mustn’t have heard me for he continued to drag me towards the lobby entrance. Entering, I noticed the receptionist raise an eyebrow.

“Nothing ‘ta worry ‘bout, Gloria,” I smiled, stupidly waving my arms. "This big buffoon’s scared I’ll fall, is all.”

Gloria just shook her head with a chuckle before returning to her book.

“I’ll be leaving soon,” Ian reassured.

Stepping into the elevator, I heard Carrie What’s-her-face singing through the speaker.

_ Flat On The Floor, All-American Girl, So Small, Just A Dream— _

Ian laughed.

“A typical Friday night for you?" He joked.

The song must have reminded him of our current predicament.

“Eh? What?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing, really," he continued, stifling his laughter with his hand.

“What’cha laughin’ at, boy?”

His eyebrow was raised in amusement.

“Boy? That’s new. I can imagine you as a dom, haha!”

“Pervert,” I pouted. "You’s just thinkin’ of how easy it’d be to bed me right now, ain’tcha?”

“Hah!? Of course not, Morgan. I-I would never take advantage of you!" He stammered, trying his best to be calm. "You're drunk and all so this is a problem.”

I looked up, suspicious. Ian’s face had turned a bright red like back at the restaurant. It was like mine was right now. He was fidgeting. Was he drunk, too? I raised my arms and cupped his face, pulling him to me. He was leaning down in a deep bow as I held his face about two inches away from mine. I needed to know. Looking over his face, I found his face even redder and warm and his eyes were confused.

“Ya drunk?” I asked.

“Me, no," he said, clearing his throat. "I was just—”

“Then why’s ya face red?” I asked, releasing his head and pointing. "People’s faces is red when ‘ey drunk, right?”

He covered mouth.

“It’s nothing, I’m just exhausted is all," he shot back.

“Eh, if that’s the case, why don'tcha come on in and have some water?” I asked. "It’ll help with a hangover.”

“Huh? B-But—”

“No butts!” I frowned, stabbing a finger into his side.

He yelped releasing his hold on me.

“Ow, Morgan?”

“When a man and a woman do it for the first time, it’s never in the butt, okay?” I lectured, motioning the lewd act with my fingers. "You’s gotta be gentle with her, ‘specially when it’s ‘er first time, ya hear? If it was me I’d like it gentle with all that scented candle bullshit.”

Then I laughed abruptly. Ian’s face turned a bright crimson bu then he too laughed, albeit more light than me. He was totally drunk, I knew it. Drunk people turn red and sweat, right?

“Morgan that’s not what I was—”

“NO BUTTS!” I shouted.

“Yes ma’am!" He said, stiffening facetiously.

“Good, now c’mon in and have a glass of water before ye go, okay?”

“Yes," he replied curtly.

I smiled.

The elevator opened up to the top floor. We stepped out and went down the hall. Ian was leading the way while I pointed to which door was my apartment. Reaching the heavy, brown door, I rummaged through my pockets for my keys. It was then that I noticed an envelope sticking out of the bottom of the door. I pulled it out and handed it to Ian.

“What’s it say?” I asked, fumbling to find the right key.

“It says, ‘From your biggest fan’. Must be a fan letter,” Ian read.

“Ah, another one?” I said. "Give it here.”

He handed me the envelope and I tucked it between my vest and shirt.

“I’ll read it later,” I said.

Opening the door after the sixth attempt, we went in. Cold air from the air conditioner blasted us. I felt like I was in the Arctic. When it did, I felt a bit more lucid. Then it hit me. I was alone in my apartment with a man. And I was drunk, too. My face heated up at the realization. Tossing my keys onto the counter, I pulled up a stool for Ian to sit. He was silent as I opened the refrigerator for the pitcher. Looking into the brightness of the empty fridge, a thought came to mine. It brought a worry, concerns that only now began to surface. My lip quivered as I placed the pitcher on the counter. I grew nervous.

“Hey, um, listen Ian,” I said, looking down onto the floor.

I looked up. Ian had an unreadable expression.

“Sorry for overdoin’ it tonight,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck clumsily. "You’s spent a lot on dinner for me and Marcus when ye didn’t have to. And I don’t want ‘cha to think I don’t appreciate it or anythin’.”

I frowned, fetching a glass from the cabinet.

“It’s fine, really it is,” Ian said, smiling. "I don’t mind.”

“You don’t have’ta lie,” I said, pouring a glass. "I’m causin’ you trouble, ain’t I? You’s should be at home right now gettin’ some sleep for work or somethin’ but instead, ya be here. I’m bein’ rude even though we’ve only just met a week ago. You had to drag me home because I’was bein’ inconsiderate.”

My back was to him. I felt my heart pang and my lips twitched. Alcohol always made me ride an emotional roller coaster. I had done this before, a long time ago. The memories of taking advantage of someone’s goodwill began to flood in. Now I was making the same mistake and it made me scared. I didn’t want to be alone again.

“I really did have fun," he said. "Besides, it—”

He stopped himself, I knew it. I did go overboard with my order. I took advantage of his kindness. Damn it, this was why I didn’t have any friends out of work. This was why I could count all the friends I had on one hand. I grew lonely all of a sudden. I cringed as I turned to him.

“It’s interesting when you’re there," he said, nonchalantly. "It’s fun.”

“Huh?” I gawked, my face warming.

Whether it was from the alcohol or not, my face was beet red. He drank the water and stood up.

“It’s fun to hang out with you, Morgan," he said, walking around the counter until he was right in front of me, looking down to my diminutive-sized self, hands in his pocket. "You’re not like my other female friends. It’s easy to talk to you about stuff they wouldn’t dare and you make a lot of references that my other friends don’t get.”

He gave me a bright and innocent smile and I felt my heart hop.

“And I would like to do this again," he said. "I’d like to know more about you, Morgan.”

He smiled. I looked into his eyes. There was something behind them that I didn’t recognize. What was it? I bit my lip. Don’t just say that so casually, you big oaf. Stop saying things that’ll make misunderstand, idiot. I looked down.

“You’re not annoyed?”

“Nope," he said.

“Mad?”

“Uh ah," he shook his head.

“That’s good,” I whispered to myself. "So we’re cool?”

I looked up at him.

“We’re cool, Morgan," he smiled. "We’re friends, right?”

My eyes widened and my mouth was slightly agape. I just stood there, staring stupidly at this man. Then my heart bounced.

“Yes! Yes, we’re friends!” I gasped, covering my mouth.

Courage flowed into my heart with his words.

“Like what Marcus said earlier,” I said. "I’ll definitely pay you back next time!”

He grinned.

“Alright then, I look forward to it," he said patting my shoulder. "But it’s my call where we go, alright?”

“Ya bet’cha!”

We chortled.

“Oh, It’s getting late," he said, checking his watch. "I should get going.”

“Ah, right!” I grunted as I put away the pitcher and glass.

We walked to the front door. He stepped through the doorway and I was at the threshold of it. We were maybe a foot apart when he stopped, looking over his shoulder down upon my diminutive size. He looked so big now. Whether it was the alcohol altering my senses or he was just that big, I didn’t know. All I knew was that he loomed over me. It wasn’t intimidating as it was reassuring, almost protective.

“Um, so just to be clear," he said, looking over his shoulder. "You’ll pay me back?

“Ayuh! I will, whenever, whatever ya want,” I said.

“Well, if you’re really concerned with paying me back," he said, rubbing his neck nervously. "If it’s alright with you.”

“Ah huh,” I nodded.

He averted his gaze for a moment before taking a breath and refocusing on me. He turned to me. His gaze was heavy and it made keeping eye contact with him hard with my running heart. He braced his forearm on the door frame and leaned forward. He was but a few inches away from me. Something was different. Earlier I had held his face right in front of me and felt nothing but now I was nervous. The light of the hallway was hidden from me with his body.

“Next time," he said, speaking into my ear. "Just make it the two of us.”

He leaned back and cleared his throat. His face was red and he was breathing unevenly. It took me a moment to process what he meant and it made me smile, almost blush.

“Sounds good to me!” I said, placing my hands on my hips.

“Good to hear," he said in a low voice. "Alright then, goodnight.”

“G’night,” I said back.

He waved to me before departing down the hall to the elevator.

“Text me when you get home so I know you got home safe, okay?” I requested.

“Yes ma’am," he teased.

I laughed as I closed the door and locked it. I felt light; not from the alcohol but from the prospect of me and Ian going to dinner or something like it. I knew exactly what he meant and it made me blush like a schoolgirl. We were going to be together and go to places, just the two of us. This was another chance at deepening this newly budding friendship between him and I. It was perfect, no distractions or anything. I would be able to plan out my mode of attack. I wouldn’t screw up this time. With this change, I was going to make this friendship last. I smiled, content with myself as I wobbled to the bedroom, eager to fill my night with pleasant dreams for once. I made a friend today.


	6. As They Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan and Marcus get a suicide call. It does not end as they expected. And so starts a chain of events beyond comprehension.

**** Desk duty was absolutely the worst thing imaginable. It made me want to rip out my eyes. I’d rather crawl on my belly through a desert of broken syringes than suffer a minute more of this. But what could I do? Patterson needed this done and someone had to do it. And I stress the word had to. This could have easily been done by some intern or volunteer. The Museum Mile Festival was coming up in a few days and with it, heightened vigilance. All the available regulars were too busy getting ready for that huge block party downtown so we were getting shortchanged into assisting the rookies in regular city ‘maintenance’. It was so frustratingly boring filing names and sending out envelopes to the appropriate authorities. Marcus and I were on standby, basically meaning we were in grueling police limbo, awaiting for our radio to crackle alive to call us up. Whether we would be called up or not today, I didn’t know. Between desk duty and getting my ass kicked in an arrest, I would much rather get into a scuffle with some poor schmuck than checking that we had met our stapler quota at the station. But at least, it was rather cool today. The overbearing heat of the office was not here so it was not too bad, physically. And with the ceiling fan stirring the stagnant June air, I couldn’t complain. At least, desk duty made it so I wasn’t required to actually do anything too demanding.

I don’t like to exert myself. In fact I’d rather do nothing at all, the bare minimum to stay around and to get things done. If I was in a movie, I’d be that one mook in the opening scene discovering the body and never seen again for the rest of the film. In an RPG, I’m the dude handing out quests ‘cause I’m too lazy to do ‘em myself. Whether that made me a bad cop or not, I really couldn’t give two shits what people thought. It’s not like the others were any better, those overweight schmucks. I did what my job entailed, nothing more nothing less. It’s not like I hated my job or anything. In fact, it was a pretty enjoyable one for the most part. It allowed me to be able to live quite comfortably in Manhattan, at least as long as I was frugal with my spending. But leading and being a leader was just not what I was interested in. My childhood neighbors and classmates back home would often tell me how weird it was to hear that I joined the force. Although they were joking, I knew what they were implying.

I was unreliable.

Who would have guessed the crass, smoking punk from the nameless Northeast that liked wearing clothes from the men's section and would rather spend Prom night on her computer shooting hookers would become a New York cop? It’s strange how life turns out. Whenever we plan something out, life gives you a taste of the back of its hand. That was me and while it made them confused why should it? It was a part of me to follow as it was a part of me to be the boyish sloth my coworkers knew. Which side was true; I didn’t even know. But that dichotomy of myself had at least worked so far. No side of me wanted to be a leader and that was fine. Marcus was the one out of the two of us for that. He led and I followed. Us uniforms weren’t trained to lead. We were made to follow and that was alright, as long as we didn’t step over too many toes. So far, not too many toes were being stepped on here in Manhattan.

 

It was the first week of June and only two weeks since the Tennis Center Shooting and yet things had now begun to quiet down. The station was returning to the mundanity of daily life and the endless cycle of traffic reports and detained drunk homeless. Not that I minded it being so or anything. But it was getting a little too quiet here in the office, a little too monotonous. It was boring the hell out of me. I was never one to sit down and get one thing done at a time, unlike Marcus. He had left to speak with Patterson but that was an hour ago. With the rest of the squad on patrol, the quiet tapping of my pen on paper was getting to me. I sighed as I twisted my body from left to right, cracking my back. I felt my body relax as I finished off another slip.

The faint aroma of lavender from the scent sticks on Marcus’s desk was relaxing but nothing compared to cool smoke. Too bad the station invoked a no smoking policy here for some time now. And even If I wanted a smoke, I’d have to go outside. And I was too lazy to get up right now. As I waved the thought away, I heard my name being called. I looked up. Marcus had walked in with two greasy, brown paper bags and it was then that I realize what took him so long.

“Hey Morgan,” he smiled.

“Oh thank god, ya came back, ” I gasped, deflating, “I’m dyin’ here with all this shit.”

He laughed.

“Been busy, huh?”

“This ain’t Saint Pattie’s day weekend. Why the hell are there so many DUIs this week?” I said, leaning over my desk.

“Beats me," he shrugged. "Anyway, our break started five minutes ago and I got food so what do you say?”

“Huh, really?” I asked, perking up.

I looked up, checking the clock above the door.

“What? It’s already twelve?”

“Ah huh, Come on, let’s go out front and eat," he said. "This room’s suffocating.”

I stood up, eager for some reprieve from the paperwork. I followed Marcus as we headed down the hallway to the atrium and then to the parking lot. A lot of the time, Marcus and I would head out to lunch but with gas being so damn expensive now with the shitstorm over yonder desert, the station was reserving the wagons and cruisers for only calls. So we had to either walk, which I was not in the mood for or eat at the station. I chose the latter. We arrived at the atrium which was fairly populated, but definitely not as badly as this morning. We stepped through the glass doors and sat together on the steps. A few other uniforms were eating lunch as well but were sitting away from us. Normally we would have joined them but I guess today Marcus wasn’t in the mood for socializing. He handed me one of the bags, the bigger of the two, of course.

“A double cheeseburger with bacon and a large order of fries for you," he said.

“What did’cha get?” I asked, opening the bag.

“Eh, I just got a regular hotdog and fries.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, taking a bite. "This is from Shake Shack, right?”

“Ah huh," he nodded, tossing some fries into his mouth.

“It’s good,” I hummed. "Haven’t had one from there in a while.”

“I was goin’ to head out to Burger Joint but it’s too far to walk to.”

I hummed in agreement.

“So I heard from Tasha that you’s thinkin’ of gettin’ Brianna and Kelly into Preschool this fall,” I said.

“Yup, Tasha wants them to start early. ‘Education is the only way for girls to get a leg up’, she said," he laughed.

“Hmm, always the go-getter,” I nodded. "At least, she ain’t the crazy kind.”

“True that," he said.

"There’s two ways of gettin’ a leg up as a girl. What Tasha said and,” I grinned turning to Marcus. "Knockin’ out the assholes that get in their way.”

“I wonder which you chose," he grinned back.

We both laughed drawing the unwanted attention of the other uniforms sitting around us.

“What school are you thinkin’ of?” I asked.

“Small World Preschool," he said, "Tasha’s heard good things from there.”

“That’s good, not too far from home, I suppose.”

“Ah huh.”

“When we told them about it last night, Kelly was very excited," he chuckled to himself.

“And Brianna?”

“She was a bit more hesitant," he said. "She’s more of an introvert than Kelly.”

“Kelly is so an independent adventurer,” I chuckled, "Brianna’s a textbook Daddy’s little princess.”

“Like you?" He asked with a knowing smile.

My laughter died a bit as I quietly smiled back and looked down to my burger.

“Yeah, like me.”

Having nothing else to say, we went back to our lunch. A few minutes passed with patrol cars coming in or out as midday took us by storm. I was starting to sweat under my vest. Finishing my burger and fries, I leaned back. Crumpling the bag and tossing it into a garbage can, I noticed Marcus standing up.

“Where’re you goin’?” I asked, still sitting.

“Bathroom," he groaned, clutching his stomach walking back into the station.

I grunted in acknowledgment, turning back to the west and my view of the parking lot. As the doors behind me swung closed, I stood up and headed to the back of the station for a smoke. I was already out here, anyway. In the back, there were about a dozen metal doors that led to the back of the station, mostly for us black lungers to huff one out. We mostly just kept to ourselves when back there. Turning a corner, a few smokers were towards the far end. The closest to me were four men, two were huge in size. The blond was a short, big and bulky motherfucker; the other was taller and more proportional. They must have been those “bros” types I’d see with those tiny girly girls back in college. The third was a lanky son of a bitch and the fourth was average in height and more meek-looking. Judging from their appearance, they must have been straight out of the academy. I sighed, begging that they’d ignore me. I had dealt with people like them all my life. But then again, maybe I was overthinking it. Was I in the wrong for judging them for their appearance? I exhaled shaking the thought away before leaning against the wall with one of my legs kicked up. Lighting my cigarette, I looked at the path ahead and the open field before me. Right behind the station was the main lawn of the park. Children were playing softball at one of the diamonds and runners were zipping along the paths.

“Yo, dude look! Check her out," the taller ‘bro’ called, joking to my left.

They weren’t even trying to hide their voices from me.

“Eh, she’s okay. Her tits are pretty big, I guess," the blond shortie said.

My eye twitched. Sometimes I wish I had a flatter chest, I thought to myself, looking down. I unconsciously crossed my arms over my chest, the cigarette sticking out of my lips. Then I realize it was happening again and dropped my hands. I ignored it. I had heard this before. Before the Insurgo Cult case which cemented my place in the NYPD, I was constantly harassed and belittled by asshole schmucks. A lady cop’s not all that common in the uniform blue, twenty percent at the most. After that case, though, I was treated normally. Then again, everyone there knew me. These schmucks I didn’t recognize.

“Over here sweet thing," the taller blond man hollered.

I didn’t turn to the voice. I kept my gaze ahead. I didn’t recognize the man or his buddies. They must have been recent transfers. But not to cause a ruckus, I responded.

“Watch yerself, rookie," I said, turning to them and pointing sharply at them. "You’s a transfer? I haven’t seen ya boys around here before but let me tell ya straight up. That shit ain’t tolerated here.”

“Ah sorry," the man wearing glasses said.

He was the less intimidating and most average of the men. He seemed like he was uncomfortable with what his ‘buddies’ were doing. I guess he was just going along with it. I didn’t blame him for it. But his ‘buddies’ were an annoyance.

“What’s ya name, boy?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“S—Simon," he quickly replied.

“You’s a transfer?” I asked, my gaze still hard on him and unamused.

I was hoping the question would divert the attention from me. It worked out, least for now.

“Ah huh," he said, feigning enthusiastically. "We got transferred here from the Seventy-third Precinct.”

“Hmm, Brownsville, eh?” I asked, with a dark smirk.

“Don’t even mention that place," the shortest and most Guido-looking man groaned. "Too many thugs over there causing shit. It’s no surprise that it’s called Brownsville.”

I turned my attention to the shortie and scrutinized him. When he said those words I knew exactly what kind of asshole he was. He looked like those fucks from that stupid reality show about those orange-skinned shits. This motherfucker had his hair gelled and spiked up and his sleeves rolled up to show his ‘guns’ tatted up with tribal marks. Oh, what a fucking badass. He was the kind of man from how he conducted himself to be the uber-macho douche kind.

“We were lucky enough to get transferred here, Central Park Precinct is sunny acres compared to back there," the boy name Simon added, nervously.

“It’s nice to see CPP’s got some lookers," the tall and lanky one of them said from behind.

“Watch your tone, fuckface,” I snapped.

He looked me over from head to toe and licked his lips as he growled like a feline. I shivered. I felt gross and wanted to clock him in the face. But I restrained myself. I would be exerting myself when I didn’t need to.

“Well, it was before—" the short blond stopped, walking in front of me.

I sighed. Here it comes. The other men surrounded me only a foot or two away from me. My back was to the wall and my arms were crossed.

“Oh yeah," he said, forming a grin. "You’s that Morgan chick in the news back then, the one the caught Insurgo.”

“Aye, that’s me,” I nodded.

“Oh yeah, wasn’t she in the news about the Tennis shooting, too?”

“Ah huh, she’s the dyke that let those two officers die.”

I took a deep and long drag, restraining myself from blowing the smoke right in his orange little face and destroying him and his friends. My body was beginning to heat up like a stove. I wasn’t going to get in anymore fights. That I promised Marcus a long time ago. I looked at him. That grin was something I had seen before. And I didn’t like it. He stabbed a finger in my direction.

“Who would’ve thought the hero of New York went soft on us," he chided. "And to think a bitch like you got all these prissy women joining the force ‘cause you’s some fucking role model, making it weak and shitty.”

I clenched my teeth and fisted my hands. He laughed at my anger.

“This is why you shouldn’t give a bitch a gun. They don’t know shit.”

His friends laughed along, Simon did so quite reluctantly. Who were they? Kids? Who the fuck talked like that, how cliché.

“I feel bad for your partner, Simpson," he sighed, leaning closer.

“You’ve been with him for five years, huh?" the taller blond asked.

“Yeah, you tap that yet?" the blond asshole grinned, "I bet’cha have. You look like a nigger-loving slut.”

I broke his nose, in my mind. I was taken aback by his words. Who the fuck was so brazen to say something like that in the open, especially an officer. The hell was he saying? I gritted my teeth as anger washed over me. I puffed out my chest and leaned towards him in return. He leaned back to keep our distance.

“Watch your tongue, boy. I might cut it off.”

A bead of sweat fell from his temple.

“He’s my partner, fuckface!”

“Oh, did I hurt your feelings, girl," the blond man mocked, trying to compose himself.

I growled.

“Never stopped anyone else," he laughed, "I’m sure he’s thought about it, too.”

I grew angry. Who the hell was this asshole and who let this guy run his little fucking mouth about Marcus?

“What to take it there?” I growled, looking up at the fucker. "Ya shrimp-dicked Soprano!”

“Ay," the blond responded, his sick smile fading. "Be easy girl.”

His buddies laughed.

“No need to act whylin.”

I lowered my fist, exhaling harshly.

“I ain’t got no time for punk ass rookies,” I spat.

“Says the bitch that froze up and got a uniform killed," he shot back. "What good is a cop that can’t shoot a fucking mook?”

It cut deep.

“I’m surprised the captain didn’t take yer badge, girl.”

“She probably sucked the captain off," the tallest of the four said. "She’s his favorite from what I’ve heard.”

The three men laughed while Simon stood a few feet away just looking down to his feet. They laughed right in my face. My lip twitched from his words. Who the fuck were they to tell me that? It was just like what those fucking cunts at that rally said after the shooting. This little dicked, short Guido Soprano ass bag was telling me off and rejecting all that I worked hard for? Sanchez and Robert’s deaths were unavoidable. There was no time to save him. That I told myself over and over again.

“You’s better watch it next time or I’ll have your badges!” I snapped.

I was sure anyone out front of the station heard us. I didn’t care at all. Nothing mattered right now. I pointed my finger at them.

“And you better believe my word gets listened to,” I threatened.

I tossed my cigarette hard onto the ground. The time for a smoke had passed. I shoulder checked the blond asshole and walked on towards the front of the station. I felt his hand rise to grab me.

“Unless you want to get your ass kicked by a woman,” I mocked, "I’d suggest not fuckin’ with me.”

He relented. For as pea-brained I now knew he was, he was smart not to test me.

“What a prude,” one of his buddies laughed. "Eh Mike?”

Mike? I’ll remember that name next time I’m at the firing range.

“She needs to get laid,” I heard the man called Mike say to his friends. "A good pounding ought to sort her out.”

“Assholes,” I growled to myself as I walked on.

“Oh, Simon was it?” I asked, turning to him.

“Ah, y—yeah," he said, remorsefully.

“You’s best find some new friends,” I said, before turning back to the front. "They’ll only drag ya down.”

I could still feel their iron hot gaze grilling me as I turned the corner back to the front of the station.

“Ah, there you are, where were you?” Marcus asked, standing on the steps.

I tried my best to steady my voice and smile.

“Out back smokin’ a cigarette,” I said. "Sorry to keep you waitin’.”

He looked at me skeptically. He must have realized from my face that something was wrong but he didn’t press me on it. I was appreciative of that. I didn’t really want to talk about what just happened anyway. I would have gone on an hour long rant and I knew neither of us needed to hear my prattling.

“Well, come on," he said. "We got a call.”

“A call? What is it?”

“We got a suicide at Regis High School," he said, walking to the bottom of the steps, "Lockhart and Thomas are already there.”

“Looks like the interns are goin’ to have a long day.”

Marcus smirked.

“The first responders are from the Nineteenth Precinct. The most we’ll have to do is a statement.”

"Alright, I call shotgun,” I said.

Getting in our patrol car, we pulled out of the parking lot and headed east down Eighty-sixth Street through the park. I turned to Marcus.

“Regis High’s a pretty good school, right?”

“Ah huh, it was ranked fifth in the country for SAT scores. It’s in the top twenty-five for private schools in the country.”

“It’s Catholic, right?”

“Ah huh, it’s a really good school. A good percentage of its graduates go on to Ivy League schools.”

“Shit, I guess its reputation will take a hit with a suicide, huh?”

Marcus nodded, switching on the radio and connecting with the common Police radio frequency.

“Officers Simpson and Morgan from CCP en route to suicide scene at Regis High, over.”

“Copy that, Officer Simpson. Connecting you with Officers Lockhart and Officer Thomas.”

“Ten-four.”

After a few seconds, the radio crackled with gushing wind.

“Simpson?”

“Ah huh, Lockhart what’s the sitrep?”

“We’re at the site, East Eighty-Fourth Street,” Lockhart said over the radio.

His voice was crackling and hard to hear from the interference.

“Has the site been secure?” Marcus asked.

“Yes, we quartered off the streets around the school and moved civilians out of the incident scene. We also had the school closed and the students are coming out on the other side of the building opposite of the scene.”

“Ten-four. Who else is there? Are the responding officers present?”

“Yes, they’re gathering statements right now.”

“And medical support?”

“Paramedics arrived a few minutes ago and we’re currently waiting for the forensic team from the Nineteenth Precinct.”

“Alright, we’ll be there in a minute, look for us coming eastbound from East Eighty-fourth.”

“Copy that.”

The radio went silent as we sped down the crowded road. The drive to Regis High was quiet. Marcus was driving and I kept my gaze out the window. I was still cooling down from the shit back at the station. Reaching the scene, yellow tape and the flashing of red and blue caught my attention. We stopped the car and parked in one of the driveways to be out of the way for the forensic team when they arrived. Getting out of the car, we proceeded towards the yellow tape barrier. Trees lined the road and covered us in shadow. Dozens of people were watching from outside the tape and in the apartments around. A handful of uniforms were maintaining the perimeter. Crouching under the tape, Thomas greeted us with a friendly smile.

“Hey Marcus, Morgan glad you could make it. Sorry to call you two up but we needed a few hands and you two were available.”

“No problem,” Marcus waved. "So what happened?”

“Kevin and I were on Mile Drive when we got an officer from the Nineteenth requesting assistance. When we got there, the two officers had already covered up the victim and had begun quartering off the area. There was no helping the boy. He apparently fell from the roof of the school, seven stories high head first.”

“Mind taking us to the body?” Marcus asked.

“Sure," he nodded. "Follow me.”

He led us to the middle of the scene where a body covered in a white tarp was. Lockhart was crouched next to it. Spotting us, he stood up.

“Simpson," he nodded.

“Lockhart,” Marcus nodded back.

“So this the victim, eh?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Lockhart nodded, kneeling down.

We did the same around the body.

“Victim’s a male sophomore, Timothy Acerbo, sixteen,” Lockhart said. "He’s from Yorkville just down the road east of here.”

He lifted the tarp to show us the boy. His skin was pale and stiff. His whole head was smashed and deformed from the head-first impact. He was on his back. Blood had pooled around him. I could barely recognize the face from the student ID card. It had been crushed like a soda can. Bone had split and tore through the skin. His teeth were all over the place like spilled marbles. Lockhart covered the boy in the tarp and sighed.

“Damn shame," he said.

“Wait!” Marcus said, taking the tarp from the body.

“What is it?" Thomas asked.

“Look,” Marcus pointed.

There was a slip of bloodied paper in the boy’s sweater pocket. Slipping on my disposable gloves from my vest, I picked it up. Opening up the slip of paper, I read.

“Do not marvel at this, for an hour is coming when all who are in the tombs will hear his voice and come out, those who have done good to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil to the resurrection of judgment. John five twenty-eight and twenty-nine.”

I exhaled, processing what was written. It was a bible verse. Not too surprising coming from a private Catholic school. I looked up. The three men were troubled.

“What’s with the faces?” I questioned. "It’s just some nonsense.”

I sighed, placing the slip of paper back in its original place.

“I was hoping for a suicide note,” Lockhart said, pulling the tarp back over the body.

Screeching resounded through the narrow street averting our attention from the boy westward. A police wagon had arrived with about a dozen individuals heading towards us.

“Looks like the forensic team has arrived," Thomas smirked. "Come on guys, let’s get out of the way.”

We stood up and headed to the sidewalk on the other side of the road from the school, our position replaced by the forensic team. Marcus and I headed to the ambulance which was getting ready to depart. It was from New York Presbyterian Hospital We found a woman with a blanket wrapped around her. She must've been the eyewitness.

Lockhart said the officers on the scene had already gathered statements so there was no need to pry. I sighed and turned to Marcus.

“What the hell are we even doin’ here, Marcus?” I groaned. "This is the Nineteenth’s problem, not ours.”

“Does it matter?”

I avoided the question.

This is our job, Morgan.”

“So much for our break,” I scoffed.

“Morgan," he pressed. "This isn’t the time for this.”

He motioned his eyes to the dead boy. I exhaled, tired and breathless.

“Yeah, yeah,” I sighed, "I got it.”

I looked around a bit then I turned back to Marcus.

“After this, we’re headin’ back to Shake Shack.”

He smiled.

"This time, it’s on y—”

A scream tore through the air. I turned to the voice to my left. In the crowd that had gathered outside the perimeter, a woman to our left was pointing up to the school’s roof. Everyone looked up. I turned and raised my head, adjusting my cap to avoid the sun. Suddenly another person leaped over the edge and slammed into one of the police cars shattering the glass, flattening it. Glass flew everywhere and people threw themselves to the ground to protect themselves. I felt Marcus wrap his arms around me and throwing use with it into the grass of one of the houses. As soon as the last of the glass landed, I looked up. Marcus let go of me and pushed me to go behind a car. By the front wheel, I turned to Marcus.

“Fuck! Another one?” I questioned.

People were crying and gasping. The police here were pushing people back even further from the scene. I poked my head over the hood of the car. Blood was everywhere. The second jumper was laying spread eagle on the destroyed police car, her head was split open from the impact and dangling to the side. I shuddered in disgust.

“Oh my God!" another person screamed.

We all turned to the roof. Squinting, I saw dark silhouettes standing at the edge of the columned building. There were more students up there. What the fuck was going on? They had these weird, stepford grins on their faces and extended their arms out to their sides.

“What the hell are you all doing!?" an officer screamed up.

I turned to Thomas. The droning of the crowd made it hard to hear.

“I thought the school was closed.”

“It was," he frowned, tense.

“Don’t do anything stupid!" another officer shouted.

“Oi!” I shouted. "What the fuck are you doin’?!”

The oldest of the boys standing on the roof, the ‘leader’ I supposed, laughed loudly, maniacally.

“Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.”

I felt my heart beat like a drum. My hands dropped to my sides and my body grew limp. That fucking phrase again, the one at the Tennis Center. They were saying that same phrase.

“Oh my God!" a voice hollered.

Looking back up, my eyes grew to saucers. My heart dropped and my mouth was agape. We stood helplessly and still as one by one the children jumped over the edge like pebbles being kicked into a pond. They were silent as they leaped into the air. I kept my gaze on the roof and white sky as eleven thumps rang one by one in a bloodied crescendo through the still midday air. The sounds of their bones made my stomach flip as they snapped against the concrete below. The drain across the street caught my attention. Blood flowed down the hole like a vile river leading to the underworld. I closed my eyes as the screams of the crowd rang on endlessly.

Two days passed. I sat in the patrol car’s driver seat. My free hand not gripping the steering wheel held a lit cigarette. My eyes were downcast looking only at the orange glow of the burning tip. It was raining again today. Marcus and I had parked outside of the office of the Chief Medical Examiner. Marcus had gone into the office while I remained outside. The pelting of the rain was all that graced the silence of the car. Then a muffled voice calling outside took my attention from the cigarette. Marcus had come back out from the office to my right. He slipped in.

“The Medical Examiner’s free now, come let’s go.”

“Where’s she at?” I asked, snuffing the cigarette into the ashtray.

“She’s in the morgue.”

I nodded, stepping out of the car and into the howl of the wind and rain. Everything was rained out and a sickly grayish-blue. The rain veiled everything a dozen yards away in a pale mist. Cars zipped past us on occasion and a few pedestrians were walking about. But for the most part, the street was empty in this office block. The rain poured over me but luckily the standard-issued ponchos kept the moisture at bay. I locked the car, following Marcus through the packed parking lot filled with ambulances and government cars into the large and imposing building. Stepping through the glass doors, we crossed the crowded carpeted lobby and down a hallway. It was like any other office building: white walls, the occasional table with a fake plant, paintings on the wall. There were many orderlies and workers about, mostly minding their work and silent in the side laboratories and offices. Officers and other emergency workers walked past us as well on their way to wherever they were heading to. Reaching the end of the long and turning hallway and down a staircase, we stepped through a large glass door and into an open room with body slabs and monitors. Thirteen of the slabs were occupied. Each body lined up next to each other with two feet between them for the medical examiners to work. A few workers were busy away with their clipboards and monitoring the screens on the wall. We were in one of the morgues. The chief medical examiner of this case was writing down on a clipboard next to one of the slabs when we walked up to her.

“Officers," she said, turning to us. "Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Marcus smiled. "We came by to collect a copy of the preliminary autopsy reports.”

“Ah yes, I got a call from the Captain of the Central Park Precinct," she said, tucking the clipboard underneath her arm. "The case is being investigated by the Nineteenth Precinct so I was wondering why the CPP is requesting a copy.”

“Well four of us patrol officers were at the scene. We’re witnesses to the case so the CPP is also involved.”

“Ah, I see," she said.

She turned away from us to one of her assistants working at one of the computers on the wall.

“Andrew, get me a copy of the Regis autopsies.”

“Yes ma’am," the man said, standing up.

“It’ll just be a minute.”

“Thank you,” Marcus said.

The printer in the corner started up and began to spit out the report. The assistant walked to us and handed the medical examiner the report. She looked it over before handing it to us.

“We’re still waiting for the toxicology reports to come in. It’ll probably be here in a few weeks. I’ll let your Captain know when it’s done so he can get a copy.”

“Thank you,” Marcus said. "Now do you mind if you can explain to us what you found. We were told not to look into the report ourselves.”

“Of course," she nodded, turning to the first body in front of us.

It was covered in a white tarp like all the others.

“There are thirteen deceased, ages ranging from fourteen and eighteen," she explained in an almost bored fashion pointing to the slabs before us. "Cause of death, blunt force trauma from the impact from the fall. After a preliminary autopsy, we found no medical conditions that would lead us to believe there was any other cause of death or sickness. No irregularities from the brains which for the most part remained intact. No deformities in the heart or nervous system. Not even any viral or bacterial samples came up beside the native flora.”

“Any reasons for their suicides?” I asked. "They must have been bullied or something. Who would just do this on a whim?”

“The acting detectives met with me earlier this morning. According to them, there was no evidence of bullying at school or abuse at home. Of course, that could change once they begin digging deeper but for now, there seems to be no cause at all.”

“Then why the fuck did they do this?” I asked, more so to myself. "There was no suicide note or anythin’.”

“The case is still fresh. They may very well find a motive but for now, we can only say for certain they died from the fall. Nothing more.”

I clicked my tongue and turned away.

“Thank you for the help, ma’am,” Marcus smiled. "We’ll be going now.”

“No problem, Officer Simpson," she said back. "Now if you'll excuse me.”

“Of course.”

She turned back and walked away to an awaiting worker by the computer table.

“Come on, Morgan,” Marcus motioned. "Let’s get this back to the station.”

I nodded and followed Marcus back up the stairs. As we reached the top of the stairs and headed down the hall, Marcus broke the silence.

“Listen, Morgan," he said. "About this morning.”

I flinched, turning to him. He heard me yelling, didn’t he?

“Just to be clear, Morgan. What happened to Sanchez and Roberts wasn’t your fault.”

I was focusing straight ahead down the hallway past the lobby to the exit of the building.

“Idiot,” I scoffed, jokingly. "Of course I know that.”

“And Morgan," he said, his gaze also to the front, "I’ve never seen you as anything more than my partner and one of my closest friends. You were there for me when I was at my lowest. And I appreciate it.”

His eyes were fixed ahead. I huffed in amusement, running my hand through my hair. I felt my heart lighten and a smile graced my lips. I exhaled in exhaustion. We kept walking.

“What are friends for?” I chuckled, patting him on his shoulder.

We continued on down the hall towards the exit. Our radios screeched alive. The content of the audio was disconcerting, to say the least. I turned to Marcus. He had the same expression as mine. It was troubled. I turned back to my front and ignored the endless frantic voices on the radio that seemed to go on forever.

“Dispatcher we got a crash on Vernon and Forty-first.”

“Copy that, sending a bus.”

“Drop the gun! Drop it—”

“Arriving on scene—”

“Dispatcher we got a child standing on the roof of Saint Clare’s Church on West Thirty-sixth. Requesting a bus—”

“Station, we got a suicide on the Metro at Lexington and Fifty-third!”

“Hanson what’s your status?! Hanson!”

“We got a shutdown of the Metro E line, an apparent suicide on the rail line, over.”

“Copy that, standby.”

“Jesus Christ! We have a Twenty-fifty-six!”

“He’s got a gun, watch it!”

“We got multiple jumpers on the Queens Midtown Expressway. Requesting assistance.”

“Command! We got jumpers at the Hammerstein Ballroom. Requesting assist—”

“I need a bus. We got a jumper on the Queensboro Plaza. He’s on the—oh my God—”

I need a bus down at Forty-six and Fifth Avenue, multiple shootings, suspect down!”

“We shall all be changed—Get off me you piece of—Are you ready for deliverance?”

“Officer Hanson, Officer Hanson status? Come in—”

“Have you reached God—”

“Who the hell is this on the radio? Where’s Officer Hanson?”

“Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.”


	7. A Soothing Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan has a nightmare and can't fall asleep. Watching TV, she gets a call from Ian.

_“I’m gonna take you,” the menacing voice sneered, grabbing me by the arm._

_He pulled me against his hard chest. Raising his large hand, he smacked my ass hard causing me to yelp. He squeezed me tighter to him; I had to cling to his shirt for support. He dragged us both into my room and closed the door, locking it. He then began to ravage my neck with a burning trail of hot kisses, slobbering over me. I attempted to break free but he wrapped a thick, muscular arm around my waist while he stuck his other hand down the hem of my skirt where he began touching me. I cried and cried as I tried to close my legs to no avail. It only made the sensation more intense as I tightened around his fingers._

_“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into my ear, nibbling on my earlobe._

_“W—Why me?” I cried. "D—Daddy.”_

_“Your dad’s not here, sweet girl,” he laughed. "It’s just you and me.”_

_His fingers moved faster and faster, wildly seeking signs of my release. I cried out, struggling with all my might but my movements only added to the sensation he was forcing on me. My face was completely red and wet, biting down on his shirt to muffle my cries._

_“That’s right, scream. I want to hear you scream.”_

_I could feel him growing huge; it was bulging between the small gap between my closed thighs, hitting my place, sending shock waves throughout my small body. I panted, drooling as I felt the sensation building up to the point of overflow. The sound of wet sloshing told me he had everything within in control._

_“I—I feel weird,” I cried. "Why me?”_

_“Because I love you,” he whispered, licking my cheek._

_His fingers then went at full force, flicking and slithering motions inside me that drove my blanking mind to insanity. I gritted my teeth as tears streamed down my face. Then he pinched, flicking and circling around me with his fingers. Then something spilled over and I craned my head back, screaming at the top of my lungs. My legs collapsed as he lifted me up into the air by my armpits as a father would his child._

_He lifted my chin so I gazed at his masked face, preparing to throw me onto the bed._

_“H—Help, someone?”_

_“There's no one here. There’s just you and me, sweet girl.”_

I opened my eyes, tears running down my face. My blanket was kicked off the bed and I lay sprawled on my back, staring blankly up to the ceiling. The thumping of my heart against my chest felt as if a monster was slamming its fists in an attempt at escape. It happened again, that damn nightmare. I lowered my hand and felt dampness. I covered my eyes with my hands and groaned loudly. Fuck, what was wrong with me? Why the hell did I keep dreaming that same nightmare? That dream had continued on at least once a week since I started high school. Nothing like that ever happened so it wasn’t a memory but why? Was I fantasizing something that horrendous? Suddenly there was a terrible urge to cry but I stifled it back with labored huffs. God, that nightmarish fantasy ripped me out of sleep too many times and left me too hot faced and embarrassed. Wiping my face, I struggled to right myself up on the bed. I sat there in the dark for a while, trying to decide whether I would finish my arousal off and hope the release would help me fall asleep or head to the couch and watch tv and let this feeling subside.

I sighed. Getting up, I tossed my soiled boxers, wiped myself down and tossed them into the hamper. Putting on a pair of running shorts, I ambled down the hall towards the living room. Slowly walking to the couch. I plopped down. Yawning, I waited until I caught my breath. I grabbed the remote and turned the tv on. Maybe some tv would help my wakefulness.

_Horror in the Big Apple. New questions arise about the bizarre and very disturbing mass murder-suicides that struck New York City earlier this week onThursday afternoon now dubbed. "Bloody Thursday”. All of this happening while the Museum Mile Festival went underway. The deaths spanned from the Southern tip of the Bronx at Kingsbridge, down to Lower Manhattan and as far east as the Queens Midtown Expressway near Mt. Zion Cemetery. Last Thursday was the bloodiest day in New York City history since American Airlines Flight Five-eighty-seven and the terrorist attack on Nine Eleven. Following the aftermath of Thursday, an order of heightened vigilance has been issued by the Mayor of New York City as engineers continue to work to free up the Metro E Line running from Lower Manhattan through East Queens. The E-line is still jammed from a derailing as of Saturday morning as a result of several suicides. The death total of these suicides according to the Chief of Police as was provided by the Chief Medical Examiner has reached a hundred and thirty-seven dead and a further thirty-two in critical condition in New York City hospitals. Seven police officers were also killed in the line of duty involving several armed victims raising the death toll an astonishing hundred and forty-four. There is much speculation as to the cause of this tragedy including gas leaks and terrorism. However, no connections to these suicides have been found—_

_Tragedy struck Memphis yesterday when a police station was firebombed killing four and injuring another seventeen. It has been rumored that the attack was orchestrated by members of the enigmatic and increasingly popular internet-revolutionary movement calling themselves, "The Redeemers.” While the organization’s spokesperson, Cesar Mendez denies any wrongdoing in the matter, a federal judge has ordered he turn in his passport until the investigation has been cleared. The fugitive suspects are currently on the run. This is but only the latest incident of attacks purportedly conducted by The Redeemers, with the latest attack back in April taking the lives of eight at the King County Administration Building in Seattle. More details coming up—_

I changed the channel. What the hell was happening? All this shit had happened and no one had a damn clue about it. The words that boy said before he leaped off the roof haunted me. Whatever it was, it had to be related to that fucking cult. There was no denying it. It was no mere coincidence. I made sure it was recorded in my statement. There was definitely a connection with the Church of God's Deliverance. What were the chances of that boy saying that exact verse if this was not related to them? I was at a loss.

Placing the remote on my stomach, I sank into the couch and sat in silence. The blue glow of the television bathed me in its brilliance and made my eyes sore. It was a week since we got the call for Regis. Now it was the end of the first week of June on a late Saturday night and I couldn't for the life of me fall asleep. Insomnia was the worst. I had always dealt with late nights. My work often demanded it. I don't think I've had a full night's rest in years when I thought about it. I looked down to the pile of cigarettes in my ashtray. I really needed to cut back. A whole pack in a week; I had never smoked that much since—never mind. My smoking habit was severely cutting into my budget.

Checking the clock above the television, I groaned. It was ten-fifty. I should have been asleep an hour ago. I needed to get to bed if I was going to pick up Marcus for work tomorrow. Sighing, I leaned even further back until my arms were scrunched up against my sides.

I was still running those images in my head and yet nothing was coming back out. Was I upset? Was I scared or mad? No, I wasn't and perhaps it was that which made me the most concerned. Was I becoming as lifeless and as apathetic as those fucks behind the station? I didn't know.

Standing up, I headed to the refrigerator. Opening it, I grabbed a soda and a bag of potato chips from above the refrigerator. I walked back from the kitchen and crossed the living room to the couch. With a pop, the bag opened with the savory aroma of corn oil and salt. I changed the channel again.

_As heavy fighting continues to intensify in the capital city between Saudi government and Najd forces, General Asma Suraqah Al-Bariqi, the commander of the Caliphate of Najd's Mecca Garrison has vowed in a video statement that any attempt to take Mecca, which has been spared much of the fighting, will result in great suffering for all that follow the Salafi cause'. As the Arab-US joint task force prepares to take the Holy City as a staging ground for a full on push south, concerns over the threat of chem—_

_People that have been diagnosed with mesothelioma have many questions. 'What are my treatment options? How will this affect my loved ones—_

_Drivers with accident forgiveness will not find their premiums rise—_

_Protests turn violent in Philadelphia in response to the killing of Cassius Johnson by Philadelphia PD officers Monday night. The family of Mister Johnson has pleaded with protesters to remain calm and peaceful to no avail. With dozens of protesters arrested and—_

_Reports of violent attacks by unidentified individuals in Chinese subways has many speculating—_

_And I say that the Lord will cast judgment upon the wicked folk here in America—Amen—I say that the Lord will cast tribulations in these coming days. That I promise you, my brothers and sisters—_

_Today, the New York City Council has passed yet another bill in the hopes of stopping future outbreaks of contagious and pandemic diseases as a result of last Spring's especially harsh flu outbreak totaling of four hundred and thirteen reported cases in Brooklyn and Queens. This bill has been criticized by many Anti-Vaccine advocacy groups over its mandate for penalties for refusal—_

_The Port Authority is cracking down on smugglers as military-grade firearms, rumored to be linked to the Redeemers, were discovered at Kurman Marina. An investigation into the discovery is currently being conducted—_

I changed the channel of the television to one of those late night infomercials. There was nothing to watch once again. I didn't know why I kept paying for cable. It was always the same thing over and over again. Some shit happens over yonder desert, panic. Some shit happens in some US city, panic. An outbreak of whatever and shit hits the fan and people start hoarding canned food and buying guns. It was that or some useless garbage of about some fucking celebrity getting into some more shit. Maybe I'd get rid of it next month. Or maybe not. It really depended on how much it would inconvenience me.

Suddenly, my cell phone went off. Leaning forward, I checked the Caller ID. I smiled stupidly to myself. It was Ian. It was always fun to have him call me. For some reason, I felt different when he and I chatted which was different than when Marcus and I talked. We talked almost every day since we had dinner. It felt good and made me feel at ease when he called and very nerve racking when I did. Leaning forward, I pressed the receive button and placed it on speaker.

"Ayuh?" I asked, tossing a handful of the chips into my mouth in a loud crunch. "What'cha want, Ian?"

"Hey Morgan, sorry for calling you so late," he apologized. "Were you sleeping?"

"It's fine. I couldn't fall asleep so I'm watchin’ shitty infomercials," I explained, turning to some commercial about a ridiculous-looking egg cooker. "What ‘bout ‘cha? It's not like ya to call this late."

"I'm on break right now. It's been busy here," he explained with a tired laugh.

I closed my eyes as he spoke.

"I've been on a twelve-hour shift here," he said in such a relaxed voice. "It seems gang shootings have been heating up again."

"The Public Housin’ gangs?" I asked.

"Yeah, they've been getting in another series of turf wars from what I've seen today."

"I hope the fightin’ doesn't spill into our Precinct," I groaned. "So it's really busy over there, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm exhausted," he sighed. "The ER's been flooded with patients."

"Poor Ian, sorry to hear that," I cooed, sarcastically.

"Cute," he said, jokingly.

"Anyway, what's up?" I asked, wiping my cheesy fingers onto my boxers. "It's not like ya to call me this late."

"Yeah, I would have normally called earlier but it's been so busy I couldn't take my break until now."

"So why did you call?"

I could tell he was thinking about something to say from the silence. Then I heard him lean closer to the phone.

"I just wanted to hear your voice," he said in a low voice.

My face heated up. What was he saying? That nerd, he was teasing me again, wasn't he? I cleared my throat.

"Is it really that bad over there that’cha need to hear me talk?" I laughed. "If the Emergency Room was bad enough then I'll drive ya nuts."

I laughed at my own joke. But then I noticed Ian wasn't laughing.

"That's not true, Morgan," he said in a serious voice. "It's nice to talk to you."

I was surprised.

"No way," I waved off, laughing in amusement. "What's there to gain from talkin’ to me? And besides, everyone says I'm dense as a black hole so everythin’ goes right over my head."

"Well that last one is true but enough about your height," he joked.

"Hey, I'm not that short," I pouted. "I'm average in height, thank ya very much."

"Marcus often told me that you were often mistaken for being underage when you first joined the force. He even said he thought you were a teenager when you two first met."

"Hey, that was five years ago. I'd like to think I have grown into a mature-lookin’ lady by now," I said.

His silence annoyed me.

"Ian, c’mon! Not ya too."

"I'm kidding."

I sighed, exasperated but amused.

I could tell he was smiling mischievously.

"Would you go on a date with someone you saw as a woman?" He asked. "Unless you’re into that.”

"No, but c’mon!" I exclaimed. "Can’t I get a date? I ain’t asking for much, just someone that likes me. If it ain’t workin’ when I ask a dude out, why can’t anyone ask me out?”

“Whoa, easy Morgan, you’re asking for too much,” he said, facetiously.

"Shaddup, ye big oaf!" I shot back, jokingly.

He laughed.

"But in all seriousness, Morgan. It is nice to talk to you," he said, lowering his voice. "You're direct and straightforward so it's a nice change from having to talk so formally with my patients. Besides, I really needed to get away from everything."

I could tell he wanted to say something else but he restrained himself. What it was, I didn't know.

"Well, um, uh," I stumbled, not sure to say next. "Have you been gettin’ enough sleep?"

Dammit, what a stupid question. What was I, his mom?

"Ha, I should be asking you that?" He laughed.

I didn’t say anything.

“Morgan?”

“Ah, nothin’, I was just lookin’ at the TV,” I lied.

I couldn’t tell him that I was afraid to go back to sleep. He’d think I was a weirdo.

“I see. Well anyway, believe it or not, we Emergency Physicians get a lot of benefits and it's not too hard to get a day off or more. Although for the work and long hours we do, I would be surprised if we did not."

"You guys probably get more days off than we do," I chuckled.

"Probably."

"But at least, I have more down time durin’ work than ya."

"True, we Emergency Physicians don't really have downtime as you do."

"Yeah, well, at least, you don't have to worry about bein’ shot," I joked.

I laughed but Ian didn't.

"I know it's dangerous for police and all," he asked, concerned. "But is it really that dangerous for you?"

"Me? No not really," I said, honestly. "The Central Park Precinct is probably the safest of all precincts, we got only a handful of violent crimes last year. So I'd say I'm pretty safe."

"I guess it's not the case this year, huh?"

"Yeah," I frowned. "I don't know why this year is so fucked but I've seen more craziness these past few weeks than my five years on the force since Insurgo. But then again, shit is happenin’ all over the place nowadays."

"That is true," he said. "I'm starting to regret those words I said in the car."

I laughed.

"Famous last words, ‘member?"

"Yeah," he groaned. "Just my luck."

I chuckled.

I sighed, running my hand through my hair. "Ah man, work is killin’ me. All the stress is makin’ me smoke like a coal train. I've gone through a pack of cigs this week, alone."

"You really should be cutting back, Morgan," he pressed. "I wouldn't want you to get sick from them. I took me forever to convince Marcus to quit."

"Marcus smoked?" I asked. "So all this time, I never knew."

"Ah huh, he quit right when he joined the force."

"Ah, hard to see Marcus actually lightin’ one up," I laughed.

"So listen to what I said, Morgan."

"I'll cut back when I have freed up time," I said, dismissively.

"Ah, speaking of free time," Ian chimed. "You wouldn't happen to be free anytime this month, would you?"

"Huh? Me?" I gawked. "Why?"

He cleared his throat.

"Well, I thought it would be nice to hang out," he said. "You know, have fun and go somewhere like the beach or the park."

"Go somewhere?"

"As friends of course!" He quickly added. "Take it as a well-needed break from work."

Of course as friends! That would be great. Besides going and visiting Marcus and his family or drinking with my coworkers, I didn't really go out for fun much. I was generally alone when doing those kinds of things like going to the beach or the zoo, not that I minded it or anything. But if Ian wanted to do something with me, too, it would be a nice change of pace. This was friends bonding, wasn't it? Yes, it was a perfect idea.

"Yeah, that sounds great!" I said, a little too enthusiastically. "I would love to."

I cleared my throat.

"And this would be the perfect time to pay you back for dinner."

"Well I wasn't planning this as a reason for that but sure," he said, coyly.

"Nonsense," I waved. "The trip will be my treat."

"Alright, so when are you free?" He asked. "My schedule is quite flexible for the next month."

"Um, let me see."

I picked up the phone and went to the calendar on the wall behind me. I ran my finger over this week and next week, the third week of June. Black marker was covering the calendar, all reminders of days I had worked and would work. The blank boxes where my days off. There were few and far between, one every two weeks or so. Hmm, maybe that was why I couldn’t get a date, I never went out.

"I'm free next weekend on Saturday," I said.

"Perfect," he purred.

"After that, I have no days off until midway through July."

"Damn, even I get more days off," he laughed.

"Very funny," I scoffed.

"So next Saturday?"

"Sure, I'm free and I got no plans," I said. "I'm assumin’ you's free then, too?"

"Yes, I am," he explained.

"So where do ya want to go?" I asked.

"How about we go to the New York Aquarium on Coney Island?"

"What are ya, a kid?" I teased. "Isn't this more of a field trip?"

"Hey, don't diss the Aquarium."

We laughed.

"But the Aquarium?" I asked. "That's pretty far from here."

"Didn't you say you'd pay me back," he joked. "Besides, tickets and the train ride there are a fraction of what I spent for dinner."

I laughed.

"Sure thin’, let me write this down," I said, grabbing a marker from the counter. "Okay, so Saturday next week, New York Aquarium. What time?"

"How does ten in the morning sound?"

"That's fine. I normally don't sleep well anyway," I agreed.

“Why’s that?”

“Ah… well, it’s just—it is I guess,” I said, unsure of a better answer.

“I see,” he said, softly. "Well, anyway, how about we meet at the N-Line at, let's say, ah, Fourteenth Street-Union Square."

"Sounds good," I nodded, writing it down. "So next Saturday, at New York Aquarium?"

"Ah huh, we'll meet at Fourteenth and Union Square."

"Got it! Oh, I'll have to transfer from the B-Line to the L-Line so can we meet at street level by the N-Line?"

"Sure. I'll see you there," he said, his voice telling me he was smiling.

"I'll be wearin’ somethin’ so it'll be easier for ya to see me in the crowd when the L-Line comes in."

"What is it?"

"It's a special red hat," I grinned.

"Any details?"

"Nope."

He chucked.

"Alright, well I should get back to work and you should try to get some sleep, Morgan."

"Yeah, yeah what are ya, my mom?" I laughed.

He chuckled.

"Alright good night, Morgan."

"Night," I said back, ending the call.

I fell onto my back and laid on the couch, smiling to myself. I stared at the white painted roof. It was blank. I exhaled, harshly. A thought came to mind in the silence. If it wasn't me; if it was someone else, someone pretty and feminine and with a nice smile then this would have been a plan for a date, wouldn't it? I frowned for a moment then sighed. I closed my eyes. I snorted at the fleeting warmth inside my chest from Ian's words.

_I just wanted to hear your voice._

No, it was I that wanted to hear his.

My face was hot still from the nightmare I had awoken from. My breathing grew erratic and a low yelp escaped my lips. The beating of my chest wouldn't stop and a warm, a fire was slowly beginning to smolder beneath my stomach that had first been lit when I woke. I gulped, lowering my hand and slowly running it down my exposed midriff. Running my index finger down the length of my toned abdomen, I shivered from the sensation. Ian’s words had ignited something. I reached down to the hem of my shorts. I tugged on it to lower it a bit further down my waist as I bit my lip. Suddenly, I opened my eyes, realizing what I was doing. I stopped myself. Ian was my friend. How could I do what I was about to do? Doing something like this, what I was going to do—I couldn't do that, not with Ian in my head. What was I thinking? I punched myself in the head, ridding myself of such thoughts. I took a deep and long breath. Then a pang rang through my heart. Dammit, why? I looked back up to the ceiling. Knowing right now what I had just attempted to do would make it really hard to look him in the eye the next time I'd see him. Fisting my hand, I slammed it into the cushion. It wasn't fair.

Maybe it was me. Who would have a woman like me? Those words always stung deep whenever I asked a guy out. 'Sorry, I see you more like a brother,' they would say. A brother? Dammit, It was far worse that being friend zoned. No one really saw me as a woman and maybe that was what made me feel this way. Ian talked to me much differently than anyone else, not Marcus, not Patterson, not even those fucks behind the station. He talked to me like I was a woman—like something special. How fucking naive I was. Fuck, who was I kidding? I didn't need all that shit. Yeah, I was fine the way I was. Why should I change myself when it's worked—been fine so far? I sighed and exhaled, cracking my back to relax my body. But sometimes living alone is, well, lonely. His words had made me so confused and in turmoil. I needed to rid myself of such stupid misunderstanding. There was no good in keeping these feelings. In my mind, I pictured myself flushing a toilet. Suddenly, I felt relaxed and calm. The anxiousness and foolhardy enchantment were gone and I was left alone with but a single feeling.

My eyes were growing heavy. Was I falling asleep now? Why was that? Normally when that nightmare appeared, I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night. I was wide awake just a minute ago when talking with Ian but now I was growing tired and weightless. Yawning, I checked the clock atop the television. It was eleven thirteen. Six more hours and I would have to get up for work again. I sighed and turned off the television. The newsreels of faded from my mind as only a single thought made its presence in my fleeting consciousness. I smiled at the warmth of a soothing voice as I slowly drifted away. The tendrils of that terrible nightmare did not return but instead I saw an image of a budding plant emerging from the dirt. I wanted to hear his voice again.

  
  



	8. The Sunlight Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan and Ian have a day out on a pleasant day at the New York Public Aquarium to escape the latest disconcerting happenings.

Despite what was generally believed, not all of us men were constantly thinking about getting laid; my college loans paid testimony to that. Sometimes you just really liked someone but not in a romantic way. Sometimes we simply clicked with one another and we'd become good friends, platonic and nothing more arises despite the protests of my friends. That is what I told myself was the case. I happened to agree with that notion as I was experiencing it now. Sure there were early and fierce physical attractions with her from the photos Marcus showed me years back. It was hard not to with when the photo you saw was of her and him on a run together, her turned slightly to the side giving a perfect view of her rather sizable rump. Her body was perfect, curvaceous and toned. She was wearing very short spandex running shorts and a form-fitting tank top. She was definitely on the volleyball team in college, I thought. But this was mere observation. Who didn’t have moments of attraction? But those overpowering sensations had subsided when I grew to know her better as a person.

It had been almost a month since I first met Morgan in person. Despite my limited in-person interactions with her, Morgan seemed rather different than other women I had come to know before. Objectively, I would say she was beautiful in a timeless way that if I was born a hundred years ago I would still fancy her with her heart-shaped face with a strong jawline, her sultry and cunningly. sharp eyes or her rosy cheeks. But this initial and fleeting attraction was not just in an overtly physical and sensual way but in a more subtextual way. I found myself rather intrigued, by the way, she conducted herself. It was rather interesting to observe the way she walked with a lazy, nonchalant step to her and how she showed a lack of interest or even a boredom in many things that women would stereotypically be interested or invested in. I often joked with Marcus that she looked like magazine fitness trainer with the personality of an old truck driver or an old-school mechanic to which Marcus would reminisce about the time she stowed away a smoked ham given to her in the ceiling panels of their office. I would laugh so hard at these anecdotes. My liking of her physical appearance was not a sign of love but of a simple observation. I could say the same for Marcus. Objectively, Marcus was a handsome man. He was in shape and his hobbies kept him so and he was well maintained and groomed, mostly due to Tasha's interventions. But just because I thought in passing and acknowledged that someone was attractive did not mean I fancied them. My female friends would attest to that notion.

Morgan was charmingly blunt and had an unrefined and tough persona. It was rugged and stoic in a certain regard which I thought was quite noble and respectable. She could hold her own and I knew from what Marcus had told me over the years that it was true. It was nice to see a woman who chose to do whatever she wanted, caring not for what others thought. I could learn a few things from her in that regard. Nevertheless, I could tell there was a softer, introspective and farouche side to her more than she or Marcus led on. I was a doctor, after all. It was my job to see what was unseen, to dig a little deeper if the patient would not. She often had bouts of silence during conversations, looking down or far away in thought. She would often have short and matter-of-fact answers to long winded questions. Maybe it was just me. But this dichotomy between this crass and sailor-mouthed huntress and the demure feminine side of her fascinated me. She was something different, certainly. What it was, however, I had yet to completely decipher. But she was my friend now and I would have all the time in the world to learn more about her in this budding relationship. This was the same with Marcus back then.

But Morgan seemed different. She seemed, despite her loud and unruly exterior, to be rather quiet inside. Despite my limited interactions, I began to surmise a truth about her. Her solitary existence was perhaps not from a preference or an antisocial temperament. She was simply old, definitely not in age but in heart. Morgan, I thought was an old soul who perhaps founded her outlook on life vastly different than those around her. Perhaps she simply lingered about. From what Marcus told me, her life before coming to New York was much colder if I could find a word to describe it. As a result, she lived her real self internally and concocted this whole external facade to compensate. Maybe, she simply walked her own solitary path while the rest around her flock to follow another. At least, that was the thoughts that rolled through my head. Maybe I was simply projecting and it was I who was the old spirit. But all of that was beside the point.

Today was simply us friends getting away from work. It was unfortunate that Marcus was busy with his family to join us. It was one of the few days he and the family had to spend together so I understood his reasoning to decline my offer to join us at the Aquarium.

I sighed, rubbing my neck as I paced back and forth on the city sidewalk adjacent to the stairway. The stairway lead down to the subway platform for the L-Line on Fourteen-Union Square. I had taken it westbound from my home in Stuyvesant Town to here about twenty minutes ago. I looked around. The leaves on the trees were lush and green and the grass was swaying breezily in the wind. It was the third week of June. The sun was out and not a cloud in the cerulean sky. It was perfect outside, a light breeze to keep the overbearing scorch of the sun at bay but warm and pleasant enough that a T-shirt and jeans would suffice. I inhaled the warm summer air as another train on the West-East L-line passed below with a roar. Morgan was on one of the L-Line trains. I watched as people flooded out of the stairway back up to the surface. Once Morgan arrived here, she'd get off the train and come up here to ground level. Then we would transfer onto the N-Line and head down for an hour until we reached New York Aquarium on Coney Island to the south in Brooklyn. At least, that was the plan as we had scheduled. Turning to have my back to the stairway to the subway platform, I checked my phone.

It was ten o'clock now. Suddenly, I got a message. It was from Morgan.

"I'm at Fourteenth and Union Square," it read. "Where are ya, ye big oaf? What'cha wearin’?"

I chuckled at the text message.

She even wrote her accent out in text. It was quite charming, to say the least.

"I'm by the L Line Entrance," I texted. "Jeans and Black Tee."

Turning around, I scanned for her. The last of the passengers were exiting the subway stairway. I had no idea what she was wearing. She wanted to keep it a mystery for whatever reason. All she said was that it would be easy to spot in a crowd and that she was wearing a red hat. It could not be too hard to spot. I kept scanning the hundreds of people passing me by. Suddenly, a flash of red caught my eye. A woman—no, maybe a girl from her build which was familiar caught my eye. Her back was to me. Strange enough, she was wearing a large, plush… novelty squid hat. The black googly eyes were pointed in different directions giving it a goofy appearance. It was probably a good two feet tall and was sitting atop her head as if trying to balance itself on it. It was poking out above the crowd. This was probably Morgan. Walking to the strange red squid-wearing woman, I waved.

"Hey! Morgan, behind you!" I shouted, hoping that it was her and that I was not embarrassing myself.

The woman turned to me. My eyes widened and my jaw was unconsciously left agape. I must have been staring stupidly. Morgan was standing before me a good ten feet or so away. Once I knew she spotted me, she was smiling widely and waving her arm in the air, enthusiastically. Looking her over from her feet to her head unconsciously, I grinned. Her black hair was tied in a loose, low bun with random strands dangling about. She must have been in a hurry. She was wearing a pair of black converse sneakers with mismatching knee high socks. The sloppiness added to her charm. I looked quickly up from her feet to her long lean legs and then to what she was wearing. It surprised me and made me snicker in a goofy, amused way. I had never seen her in a dress before let alone a dress like that. It was a gray, sleeveless summer dress that went just above mid thigh with colorful dinosaur prints on it. It was a novelty dress if I ever saw one, definitely not one a normal girl would wear, but for some reason, I thought it fit her. I chuckled to myself.

She walked up to me and grinned.

"Hey, Ian, here ya at. What'cha think?" She asked, proudly looking up to me. "Caught your attention didn't it?"

My gaze softened at the short woman as her eyes sparkled.

"Yeah, the hat was a nice touch, too," I smiled, pointing to the absurdly large plush squid sitting atop her head.

She looked up squeezing the plush hat causing it to make a high-pitched squeak.

"Neat, huh?" She asked. "I got it from one of ‘em homemade-goods internet store for twenty bucks."

I gave it a squish.

"Suits you," I nodded. "It's rather cute. But I thought you’d be caught dead wearing a dress."

“It was the only thin’ that wasn’t dirty," she said, sheepishly. "Who would’da thought I’d forget to do laundry, yesta’day.”

“A bit airheaded, aren’t we?” I teased.

Looking down, I noticed Morgan was averting her eyes to the ground.

"The next train’ll be here any minute now," she said. "We should get goin’."

"Ah right, let's go," I nodded, leading the way across the small park.

The weather was pleasant. So many people were out and about, running or having a day out. Passing picnickers, we reached the subway entrance diagonal to the L-Line subway entrance. Joining the quota, we descended the steps and passed the ticket booths. By the time we reached the platform, the train had arrived. We quickly got into one of the compartments which were completely packed, people were standing up and there was little room to maneuver. It reminded me of those pictures I saw of the Tokyo trains. I didn’t like using the subway; driving my car to work was just more relaxing and convenient for me. Just as we entered, the subway train began to move with a lurching motion. The movement caused me to lose my balance and push Morgan by accident against the wall across from the door. I braced my forearm against the glass to balance myself as people pressed up against my back, scrunching us together. There must have been forty people in this one compartment alone. I should have chosen a different time or just driven. Looking up from the ground, I met Morgan's gaze.

Our faces were maybe four or five inches apart. My leg was squeezed between her thighs in an awkward fashion and from the position of her legs, she had to cling to my shirt to stay balanced.

"You okay?" I asked, taking my free hand to grip the O-ring above me.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she groaned, adjusting herself to a more comfortable position. "Lotta people, huh?"

She laughed.

"I should've chosen a different time," I confessed.

"Well, we're here now," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Hopefully, it'll clear out a bit so we can sit," I added.

"Yeah, I don’t want to stand for an hour."

Reaching the next stop, more people arrived and forced us even closer to accommodate them. I gulped as Morgan's ample chest pressed against me. My face warmed and I grew nervous and skittish. The roar of voices made it hard to hear my own thoughts.

"Oi, Ian what time is is?" Morgan asked, raising her voice.

"Ten-twenty," I said, checking my watch.

"So, eleven-thirty we'll be there?"

"Ah huh," I nodded. " hopefully the train won't be delayed too badly."

Silence followed as we reached another stop. This time, people began to disembark, allowing us to         quickly snatch seats before others arrived. Morgan sat across from me. We sat in silence as the train went along. I plugged in my headphones and began listening to music. I was always a fan of film scores. They always gave me such a feeling of grand adventure and emotion. I looked up from my music player.

Morgan was kicking her feet and looking out the window.

I exhaled as I checked my watch. It was ten-forty and from where we were, we'd have to wait at least an hour until we reached Coney Island. I straightened my back and crossed my legs, making myself comfortable for the long trip.

About an hour later and suddenly, I felt a tug on my sleeve. It was Morgan. One of her dainty hands was on my thigh and it made my body tense. She was leaning towards me and tapping my shoulder. I unplugged my headphones.

"Hey we're here. " she said.

"Now at Coney Island and Stillwell Avenue. End of N-Line," The automated announcement said.

The train emptied of passengers. Morgan and I disembarked the subway train and headed to the exit stairway. I was sweating under my shirt. The whole time it was scorching hot inside the train. We got little reprieve with the ventilation. I turned to Morgan who was walking beside me. She was slouching her back as she walked. Her hair was messy and even the squid was slouched in exhaustion.

"Guh, we're finally here," she groaned, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "It was like a boiler in there."

"Tell me about it," I laughed, wiping my brow. "Hopefully it'll be a lot cooler in the Aquarium."

"But we have to walk like half a mile to the Aquarium," she whined.

"Come on, it can't be that bad," I said. "Aren't you the police lady?"

"I don't like exertin’ myself more than I need to," she said, flatly.

"Well, I'll buy you a soda from the station convenient store."

She grunted in agreement. Then her stomach growled.

"Hungry, too?" I asked with a smile. "Did you have breakfast?"

"Donuts," she demanded with dull, unamused eyes.

I laughed as we went to the subway store area. There was a bakery beside the small convenience store. While Morgan went into the Bakery, I entered the adjacent store. I was not sure what flavor she wanted so I splashed a bit of it all into the Styrofoam cup. The storekeeper gave me an amused smirk as I paid with the cash Morgan gave me. I frowned. I must admit I stole a glance into her wallet as she took it out. She didn’t have much and here she was repaying me for something as trivial as dinner. Says a lot about her character, I thought. Stepping out of the store, I noticed that Morgan had yet to come out of the bakery. I waited outside the bakery as Morgan heckled with the baker for the best deals. I smirked as I stood outside swishing the cup around. Suddenly, I felt my sleeve being tugged.

Morgan had a loaf of bread tucked under her arm and a donut stuffed in her face, halfway sticking out of her mouth like a dog holding a Frisbee.

"Really?" I asked, handing her the soda.

"Mmh hmm, of course," she mumbled. "I got a steal of a deal from the baker, five bucks for a loaf and a glazed donut."

I shook my head in amusement.

"Always with an appetite," I said, joking. "Do you ever stop eating?"

"Hey, if there's food, I'll eat it. I rarely ever share my food with anyone, not even Marcus."

"You're really close to him, huh?" I asked.

"Well duh, I saved his skin back then. He saved mine," she explained. "I got him and Tasha together and I'm practically an auntie for his kids so of course we're close."

"Hmm, I must admit I'm a bit jealous," I smiled.

"Why?" She asked, finishing the donut. "You've been friends with Marcus twice as long as me."

I turned my body to her and looked at her with serious eyes.

"I was talking about you," I said.

"Huh?" She asked, looking up at me in surprise.

"It's rather boring when you only get to hang out with your friends every once and awhile, you know?"

She nodded her head in agreement.

"And with your schedule being the same as Marcus's I don't really get to meet you or Marcus face to face like this. This was a lucky break that I had the day off the same time as you."

She chuckled.

"That's true."

"Like I said it had been months since Marcus or I had dinner and when you and I meet at the hospital. So days like these are special."

"Must be hard bein’ a doctor," she noted, nonchalantly tossing a piece of bread into her mouth. "I've never had too many friends, in fact, you’s could count ‘em on my fingers. So, I guess I'm used to it but for ya, it must be hard to not be able to hang out more often."

"Well, being a doctor does have its benefits but yeah, it's hard sometimes to have to decline invitations from friends because of work."

I frowned and started walking to the exit. Morgan followed.

"But never mind that," I said, waving the negative thoughts away. "Today I get to have a day off and hang out with you so everything's fine."

She smiled widely and tore a chunk of bread and handed me it.

"Huh?"

"Eat it, food makes everythin’ better," she smiled, innocently.

"But—"

'Eat it!" She demanded.

I chuckled as I relented, allowing her to toss the bread into my mouth.

"Better?" She asked.

My heart fluttered from the strange, childlike act.

"Much better," I said, gazing softly at her.

She smiled, proud of herself perhaps. She tucked the bread under her arm as she wiped crumbs from her dress.

"Alright, come on let's go!" She cheered, slurping the soda.

She pointed the soda cup high into the air.

"The Aquarium awaits."

She led the way with gusto, following the droves of other people heading to the beach and boardwalk. We exited the station and onto the sidewalk. There were a lot of people, a lot of couples especially. I followed as Morgan headed down Stillwell Avenue.

After about ten minutes or so we arrived at the main entrance of the New York Aquarium. Dozens of people were passing us by and hundreds of people on the beach enjoying the midday sun. Most of them that were heading out of the Aquarium were heading to the beach and the famous boardwalk right behind us, right in front of the Aquarium. We had to wait for Morgan to finish the bread and throw away the soda cup before we could head in. Looking at her, I noticed the stars in her eyes. She was so excited to be here, I could tell.

"Excited?" I asked.

"Hell ya, I am," she said, excitedly. "It's been years since I last came here so of course I'm excited. I wonder what's new."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" I asked. "Let's go."

We walked into the cool complex and handed the ticketer our passes. Walking past the ticket booth, we were met with groups of people walking in the same direction as us. The walls of the lobby were lined with images and fixtures of undersea creatures and panels. It was amazing to see all the panels with factoids about the environment and the oceans.

"Hey, Ian what'cha doin’?" Morgan shouted. "C’mon the displays are over here!"

I turned to the voice. I was engrossed with the panels and artwork that I had not noticed that Morgan had gone on ahead.

Morgan was over across the foyer by the dimly lit and blue-walled passageway to the aquariums. She was waving her arms and pointing excitedly to the faint glow of the tanks of undersea life.

I lightly jog to her.

"Ah, sorry Morgan," I apologized. "The art distracted me."

"An art buff?" She asked.

"Why yes, I do appreciate the craftsmanship of these hanging figures," I said, pointing to the colorful statues hanging from the ceiling.

She nodded and led the way down the dim hallway. We spent a few minutes at each of the tanks, bathed in the blue glow of the water and the shimmer of the colorful fish that swam just beyond the glass. It was beautiful, these exhibits. I turned from the sight of a massive Grouper to Morgan.

She was completely engrossed in the moment, her eyes were wide and focused on the fish. Her hands and face were pressed up against the glass. The children that were around her did the same. She was a child at heart, mesmerized by the tropical fish.

"My dad brought me to the local Public Aquarium a long time ago," she said, seemingly to herself.

"Must be fun to go to the Aquarium again, huh?" I asked with a smile.

She nodded and removed herself from the glass. She turned to me and grabbed my hand.

"C’mon!" She said, energized. "The jellyfish tank is up ahead!"

She dragged me by my hand, navigating the crowds to a small glass pane. We stopped in front of it. Children were crowded in front of the glass, oohing and awing at the sight of the floating creatures.

"It's beautiful," I smiled. "They look like they're flying."

"Makes ya want to squeeze ‘em, huh?" She said, mischievously while wiggling her fingers in a strange fashion.

She squished her hat, making a squeaking noise.

"C’mon, the big tank is up ahead."

I followed her. It was nice to see Morgan so excited. She seemed totally different than at dinner or over the phone. She seemed like she was having fun, like a normal girl and not the tough cop I first saw. It made me feel happy, too. And so I followed her from display to display.

Two hours had passed since we arrived. I just had exited the bathroom of the Aquarium wiping my hands dry with a paper towel. Looking around, I found Morgan scuttling around a column-shaped tank. Families walked past the squid-wearing woman in both amusement and caution. I scoffed in amusement as I walked to Morgan. Reaching the tank, I noticed it was swarming with tiny little shrimp-like animals. I turned to Morgan. She was acting like if someone saw a cute puppy or kitten.

"Look Ian! These are freshwater copepods!"

"Ah huh," I entertained her, raising an eyebrow.

"Ain’t they so cool?!" She asked, looking up at me for confirmation. "Look they're crawlin’ in the water column."

I looked at her. Unconsciously, my eyes wandered to her alluringly arched back and the position she unconscious positioned of her body at a ninety-degree angle with her rather sizable butt out. I noted her curvaceous form and the way the thin dress wrapped around her. As a red-blooded man, I would have been lying if I said she was not enticing at this moment and turning away would be a sad inevitability. But then reality returned to me and I shook my head and cleared my throat. I should not be having those thoughts about my friend. No, that was a simple observation, nothing more.

"So these are the things that fish eat, huh?" I said quickly, turning back to her.

"Not just fish! Everythin’ in the ecosystem relies on ‘em. They make a huge chunk of the Plankton in the oceans and bodies of freshwater."

She sounded like an ecologist. Maybe she chose the wrong profession. I chortled to myself.

"Is that—it is! That's of the Cyclopidae family and that one's of Diaptomidae. Look at all these Cyclops!"

She poked the glass.

"Who would have thought they'd have a copepod tank?"

She giggled, whimsically.

"Lucky."

"Lucky?"

"Ah, it's kind of a habit of mine," she said, embarrassed. "Whenever something good happens to me I say 'Lucky'."

"Ah, like when someone says 'score!', right?"

"Exactly," she said, turning back to the swimming critters.

I simply watched in amusement as she struggled to count the thousands of white specks crawling in the water column. It was endearing to see the smoking and drinking tomboy that Marcus always described so captivated by tiny plankton, of all things. She was definitely weird. But were we not all in some way? I shook my head as I leaned closer myself to take a look at the tiny creatures.

Suddenly, loud crying interrupted us. We turned to our right. Down the hall in the Conservation Hall, a boy no more than twelve was crying and stomping about angrily in the middle of the Hall. What surprised me the most was that no one was noticing or even helping to the child. It was as if he was invisible to them. Where were his parents? Why was everyone just walking past?

I turned to Morgan. She groaned, somehow knowing what I was planning on doing. Turning back to the crying boy, we walked to him.

"Hey little guy, are you okay?" I said in as soft and as comforting a voice as I could.

"Leave me alone!" The boy snapped, waving his octopus plushie.

I withdrew my hand and laughed nervously. This would be difficult. There was a reason why I was not a pediatrician. But just because he was being difficult did not mean that I should not help. I was a stranger, after all. This boy was smart not to trust me right away.

"Oi, kid, what'cha cryin' 'bout?" Morgan asked, unamused.

Her accent coming through stronger. So much for soft and comforting.

"Shut up, hag!" The boy shouted.

I saw Morgan's smile twitch.

Morgan growled.

"Watch yer mouth, boy."

"Morgan," I pressed.

"B—But he started it."

"He's a child," I scolded. "We're the adults."

The boy blew a raspberry.

"Young man, we're trying to help," I said. "Now tell us what's wrong. We might be able to help if you tell us."

The boy looked down.

"My mom left me," he said. "She doesn't care about me at all. She hates me."

"Tch, what is this cheesy line?" She questioned, turning to me. "Ya hear this? What are we in a some family drama?"

"Morgan," I pressed.

She sighed and knelt next to the child.

I did the same.

"What’s yer name?" Morgan asked.

"Sam," he said. "Cunningham.”

"Your mother doesn't hate you," I reassured. "She probably just lost you in the crowd. I'm sure she's worried sick."

He did not respond, simply looking down.

"Yo, listen, kid, where's the last place ya saw her?" Morgan asked.

"I don't remember."

"Guh, then what does she look like?" She asked.

"She—she."

"Spit it out, kid. I can't help ya if you's don't tell me."

"Easy Morgan," I said turning to Morgan then back to the boy named Sam. "It's okay, take your time."

Morgan frowned and furrowed her eyebrows, slapping her hat's tentacles around.

"She has short brown hair and glasses," the child said.

"Good," I said. "There you go. What was she wearing?"

"Her shirt had stripes," The boy said. "And she has a white purse."

"Perfect, what color were those stripes?"

"Red," The boy said, wiping his eyes.

"Anythin’ else, kid?" Morgan asked with a sigh.

"She's wearing a white dress."

"So a long skirt?" Morgan asked to herself.

"Alright, we'll help you look for her."

"Huh? We will?" Morgan asked, taken aback.

"Well of course, what was the point in asking him these questions if we weren't going to help?"

She sighed.

"Come on, my friend's a police lady. She'll find her, I'm sure."

"Hah?! I will?"

"Of course," I smiled, amused.

"Don't just volunteer me to help. You's wanna help then ya do it."

"She'll help?" The boy asked, skeptically.

"Yes, she will."

"Fuc—"

"Fun right?" I asked, squeezing her arm to halt her cursing.

"Yeah," she said, forcing an ‘I’ll get you for this’ smile.

"Wait here," she said, standing up. "I'll try to find her."

With that, Morgan ran off, disappearing into the crowd.

I turned to the boy.

"Don't worry," I said. "She'll definitely find her. She's one helluva cop after all."

I smiled and I could tell the boy was at least slightly reassured. We walked to one of the displays and sat down. My mind was racing to find something to say to him to get a conversation going. I did not enjoy the awkward silence.

"So, Sam, what school you go to?"

"Shut up old man," The boy snapped.

I felt glass shatter. Laughing nervously, I scratched my head.

"Come now, I'm not that old," I replied. "Uh, I should probably just stop talking now."

"That lady back there," the boy asked. "She's your girlfriend or something."

"Hah?" I gasped. "Of course not, she's just a friend."

This boy was acting too casual to me. He must not have been taught at home enough.

"She's the partner of my close friend. They're both police officers," I said. "I do like her, as a friend. But not like that."

The boy looked at me skeptically.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because I don't just see her in that way," I simply addressed.

"Then how do you see her?" He asked.

He waited for me to speak. I opened my mouth but suddenly the speakers above us blared.

"We have a mother and a police officer here at the Aquatheater," the announcer said. "A Miss, um, Se—"

"It's Morgan ye big oaf," I heard the female voice interrupt.

I completely forgot about the announcements. I smacked myself in the face. This would have been done sooner if we had just used them.

"Yo! Ian, take the brat to the front of the Aquatheater. The mom's over there."

"Sweetie! Sam, honey it's Mommy! If you're hearing this come to the theater we went to this morning, okay?" another voice said, frantically. "Please listen to the kind man with you."

"Oi, watch it," Morgan snapped, audibly pushing the woman aside causing the microphone to screech. " hurry it up Ian, we're burnin’ daylight."

I chuckled to myself. She really does not have any tact, huh? I stood up and turned to the boy.

"Come on, your mom's waiting for you."

"I ain't going," he said.

"What?" I asked, surprised. "What do you mean? She's your mom, didn't you hear her? She's worried sick."

"If she cared about me why didn't she come looking for me?"

"I'm sure she did. Look around you, Sam," I said. "There's a lot of people here so finding one person's difficult."

"Then why did that lady find my mom so fast?"

I smiled.

"She's one hell of a cop, Sam," I said. "She's really good at her job."

"Really?"

"Ah huh, she cares a lot about people," I said. "Even though she can't really express it so well."

I was completely guessing here. Even so, I could gauge that my words had, at least, some truth to them. Morgan did go along with my plan, after all.

"Come on, let's go," I said, holding out my hand.

The boy took it and stood up.

"Okay," he said.

We then headed down the hall and outside. Once we got outside, we saw the large stadium that dolphin and seal shows were held. After a little while, we reached the entrance to the theater. There I saw Morgan and a woman in her mid-thirties standing, looking around. The woman must have been the boy's mother.

"Ay! Morgan, we're over here!" I shouted.

As soon as they turned to my voice, the woman bolted to Sam and me. She fell to her knees and embraced the boy, sobbing and patting the boy on his back. The boy was unmoved but hugged her back. She kissed him on the cheek and forehead repeatedly.

"Sweetie, thank God you're safe. I thought I lost you!" She cried. "Mmh, mmh, oh my baby!"

"You left me behind," he uttered tears slowly beginning to form.

"I know, I know! I'm so sorry sweetie. I looked everywhere I could but I couldn't find you."

"I was scared," The boy hiccuped, finally beginning to cry.

"I know, honey. I'm so sorry. What can mommy do to make it up to you."

"I—Ice Cream," he said.

"Of course, I'll buy you all the ice cream you want, sweetie."

I smiled, my heart warming at the scene.

The woman turned to me. wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "If it wasn't for your girlfriend, I don't know what I'd do."

"S—She's not my girlfriend, but you're welcome Miss Cunningham," I replied, clearing my throat. "We are servants of the public, after all."

"Thank you so much," she repeated.

She then stood back up, taking her son’s hand in hers. They nodded to me and Morgan before walking off together, disappearing into the crowds of people.

Morgan walked up to me. She was holding a half-eaten corn dog.

"Yo," she said, raising her hand, casually.

Her face was expressionless.

"Nice job, Morgan," I praised. "Where did you find the mom?"

"After I left, I went over to the snack bar 'cause I was feelin’ hungry so I got myself a corn dog," she said, taking a bite. "After that, I saw a woman runnin’ around like a buffoon so I asked her if she was missing a bratty boy and here we are."

I laughed at her nonchalant explanation. Just the way she was randomly eating for whatever reason made me laugh.

“That’s good, but a corn dog? From the Aquarium?”

“You don’t like ‘em?" She asked.

“I was never a big fan of them, pigs in a blanket, yes, but not corn dogs.”

She gave me a look of pseudo revulsion as if I was insulting her. Then she wagged a finger at me as if scolding me. Having someone of her demure stature scold me was rather endearing.

“Y’know,” she said, taking another bite. "I find it fundamentally strange that ya don't like corn dogs.”

"Well, good job anyway."

"Thanks," she smiled, biting down on the fried hot dog. "So what now?"

I checked my watch. It was four-twenty now. Looking up, I noticed the sun was low and the sky was starting to turn slightly orange. I turned to Morgan.

"Well, I think we did enough for one day," I said. "Thanks for taking on my selfish request."

"Well it was to repay ya for the dinner so it's your loss for the daylight," she joked.

"Funny," I said, sarcastically. "Well, come on. With our luck, we'll be back in Union Square by sunset."

She nodded and so we headed to the exit.

The walk to the station was silent. Morgan was too distracted with the corn dog to speak and I was too busy with my own thoughts. I did not really pay attention during the train ride back to Union Square. I felt a sense of fulfillment and a positive exhaustion. It was as Morgan had said. It did feel like a family drama when that boy was reunited with his mother. And here we were at its conclusion I closed my eyes as the train rumbled on. This was why I was a doctor. Helping people felt good. It was quite the fulfilling career and it made the long hours and conditions in the Emergency Room worth it. I must have been smiling to myself the entire trip because when Morgan tugged on my shoulder my lips were sore.

"Ay, we're here," she said. "It's time to go."

I was awoken from stupor and followed her out of the N-Line train and onto the subway platform. Heading back up to the surface, we crossed the park, now populated with children playing soccer. It was then I noticed we were mirroring our actions of this morning but in reverse. I chuckled in amusement of the realization. Before we headed down to the L-Line to head our separate ways home, of course, we had to take a detour to a hotdog stand. After that, we headed down the stairs and swiped our passes, crossing the hall and onto the L-Line platform.

"What time is it?" Morgan asked.

"Five fifty-six," I said, looking at my watch.

"My train’ll be here soon," she noted.

"Yeah, the westbound train always comes before the eastbound," I replied.

"Well, um, thanks for today," she said. "I had fun."

"Same," I nodded. "Now we're even."

I smiled, jokingly.

"It's too bad we couldn't see the rest of the Aquarium because of that kid," Morgan frowned. "Sorry."

"It's fine. It was because of my request," I smiled. "I felt better that we helped him find his mom."

"You really are the doctor type, huh?"

"What?"

"You’s always thinkin’ about other people," she said. "Ya'll have no trouble at all."

"Trouble, with who?" I asked, not sure of her meaning.

"With girls, of course," she said.

Something was off about her smile but I did not press her on it.

"Well, I am at that age where I'd like to settle down," I confessed.

"Like I said, have any trouble come to me," she grinned, nudging my arm, playfully. "I'll set ya up."

She laughed, boastfully at her joke.

My gaze softened and my smile became small. It was then I came to realize something. I looked down at Morgan. She was looking away from me to a street performer rapping by one of the support pillars. Now I began to realize why she had never been on dates. It was not for the fact that men were put off by her personality. In fact, I had been charmed by her many times and her strange innocence despite her tough and unkempt attitude which would have told me the reverse. She was just too dense. She was a blockhead in that regard. She had been hit on, confessed to and admired by before; I was sure of it. But she was too oblivious to notice. Those poor men did not even have a chance. Poor Morgan, she was her own worst enemy. She said she did not have many friends so I doubt she had a girlfriend there to tell her that a guy was interested in her.

I exhaled. "Hey Morgan.”

She turned to me.

“Hmm?”

"What would you do if I said I—"

"Train arriving at Fourteenth and Union Square. Please remain behind the yellow line for your safety," the automated announcement interrupted. "Please watch your step as the doors open."

"What was that?" She shouted over the air horn of the approaching train. "I couldn't hear you."

The train skid to a halt with a loud screech.

"Never mind, it wasn't important!" I shouted back.

"Okay, well my ride's here," she waved, walking to the opened doors of the train. "See ya later."

"Ah, see you," I waved back. "Text me when you get home safely, okay?"

She made a thumbs up and winked, sticking her tongue to the side out in a goofy manner.

"You bet'cha!"

The door shut. As the train slowly headed off down the subway tunnel, a thought came to mind. It was what that boy ask.

_"Then how do you see her?"_

How do I see her? As a friend, of course. I sighed, watching as Morgan waved from within the train. I waved back and painted a smile on my face as the train disappeared from view. Those words that boy said irritated me. Not because of the boy but what they were invoking from my heart. I told myself she was a friend. But somewhere inside me maybe—no, that was absurd. That wasn’t the case. And so the question continued to spiral in my mind as the speaker above announced the arrival of my train home.

How did I see her?


	9. Sudden Impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is July 4th and Morgan and Marcus are on traffic patrol. After a quiet morning, the two take a much-needed lunch. However, when they finish, they get a call for a routine stop. But things take a tragic turn.

**** Today should be a fun one, but it ain’t. I should be dressed in nothing but my boxers and a tank top in my room playing video games and watching cringe compilations, but I’m not. I should be out there with Marcus and his family for a nice barbecue; it’s a nice day out. That should have been me out there on the Great Lawn getting my snack on. But no, I have to be here on damn traffic patrol. With July Fourth in full swing here, taking the city by storm, I was once again forced into labor. Today being the biggest and most important holiday of the season, my head was aching. Droves flocked to Central Park for picnics and games and the music concert. Thousands more wandered the streets. We, of the Central Park Precinct, were tasked with keeping everything in order in Central Park and its surrounding neighborhoods. It wasn’t a hard job but it was still a job. Patrolling the paths and keeping an eye out for suspicious characters were all part of the job here. Marcus and I were on traffic patrol. Here, things were slowing down; I couldn’t ask for more. The weather was warm but not too hot and not too windy. The summer crime season had yet to pick up so it wasn’t too bad. Grievances on the price of gas, which had just dropped back to a ‘low’ five-thirteen a gallon last week, and the latest health bill mandating required vaccines for children, under penalty of prosecution, were starting to get fairly heated. The Christian terrorist group, the Shield of the Gospels or SOG, had begun making its presence known in Brooklyn with the lynching of a Muslim man and so an uproar was ongoing on Long Island. It was a bit worrying but they were far away and small in size for the most part. The bolstering of the Brooklyn PD was more than enough for those fuckwits. There was no need to waste my energy worrying about them when we had it under control. But that nagging feeling on the back of my neck told me something bad was going to happen today. Then again, I think we pretty much all had that same feeling when Christmas or New Years came. But I still just hoped that if something did happen today, it’d be over in Brooklyn. I would hate to be inconvenienced right now.

The quiet wind and the monotonous flow of traffic and car horns told me that life was far from the fears of those loonies. It was these mornings on patrol that I could be cool and relax and just think. There was little to do and with it, little reason to exert myself. This was life for me and Marcus since the first assignment we got together years back… until a month and a half ago. But now I guess things were slowing down again. That was a relief. I could just sit back in the car watching traffic zip past with a soda in one hand and the steering wheel in the other. Everything about it was perfect. It was my lucky month, after all. Smiling to myself, I turned from my front of Fifth Avenue and East Ninety-fourth back to Marcus. He was typing away on the car’s laptop.

“Ay Marcus, what’cha typin’?” I asked, sipping my soda.

“Just a field report,” Marcus exhaled. "Just some spreadsheets and checking the Live city map. Apparently there’s a car pile up on the crossing of Grand Central Parkway.”

“How far’s it backed up?”

“Two miles.”

“Shit, that blow serious donkey dicks.”

He snickered.

“It’s been pretty quiet here,” I noted, grabbing a sandwich from my lap.

“Well, Ninety-fourth is generally pretty good. We were lucky we weren’t on patrol at the Columbus Circle.”

“Poor Taylor,” I shook my head. "He and Carlson must be swamped right now.”

“Ah huh,” Marcus nodded, bored.

I yawned, wiping the tired tears from my eyes. Taking the plastic wrap from my sandwich, I took a bite of the rye.

“Tuna salad?”

“Crab, I got a steal of a deal from this dude behind my apartment,” I winked.

“Morgan—never mind. Make sure you get tested later.”

“Why? This some good crab meat. Wanna bite?”

“Hell no,” he vehemently refused. "I ain’t eating a sandwich from some back alley freak.”

“Boo,” I pouted, taking another bite. "When ya lived like me, Marcus, food is food. He offered it for pocket change. Ya can’t beat somethin’ like that.”

A few minutes pass and I finished my sandwich. Licking my fingers, I sighed.

“Anythin’ interestin’ on the map?” I asked, turning my head to him.

“Besides the backup on Grand Central Parkway, there’s just a cluster of traffic violations in Hell’s Kitchen and Midtown. Nothing too major here in Manhattan.”

“Lucky,” I sang, leaning back and sighing. "Looks like this mornin’s gonna go smooth as molasses.”

“Famous last words,” Marcus smirked.

"Don't make me bust you up, man,” I said.

He laughed.

“Better watch out or else Terminator’s gonna get you,” he teased.

I waved him off.

“What time is it?” I asked. "We’s been watchin’ traffic for hours.”

“It’s eleven-twenty,” Marcus said.

“Damn, we’ll have to wait another hour for lunch. "I deflated.

“Morgan you’ve been snacking all morning,” Marcus scoffed. "You just ate a sandwich.”

“Snackin’ ain’t lunch,” I said, defensively. "And it helluva ain’t brunch.”

Marcus shot me an unamused face.

“Morgan what’s this?” he asked. "What’s all this trash?”

He pointed to the crumpled up sandwich wrapping paper on my lap.

“Breakfast,” I said, shyly.

His mouth was crooked as he crossed his arms. It was safe to say he wasn’t amused. Lifting the wrappers from the floor of the car, he shook them in front of my face.

“And this?” he asked, lifting a white and orange box filled with cleaned chicken bones.

“More breakfast,” I said, sheepishly.

“Exactly,” Marcus said, exasperated. "We’re police officers, not sloppy frat bros. I don’t want my pants to be greasy by the end of today. What’s Patterson’s going to say when he sees this pigsty?”

“Eh, what’s the difference?” I said, facetiously.

“You can go another hour without lunch.”

“Fine,” I bemoaned. "I’ll just starve here. Don’t mind me.”

I faked sobbed, running my index finger down my cheek where tears would have fallen. Marcus shook his head and returned to his tasks so I returned my gaze to the cars and buses passing us by. I sighed and sipped my lime soda as I turned back to my left of Fifth Avenue. It was then that I saw it; a column of black vans passed us by.

“Hey, hey Marcus, check it out,” I pointed, nudging his shoulder. "What’s that all ‘bout?”

I heard Marcus shuffle his body to turn to my direction.

“I don’t know, it isn’t on the map,” Marcus said.

I frowned as the last black van passed from sight. They then split and went off in different directions.

“Looks like ‘em gov’ment vans ya see in the movies,” I noted.

“Maybe, but why would they be in such large numbers?” Marcus asked. "Is there something going on?”

“Make sure ya add that to our report, okay?”

“I should be the one telling you that," he chuckled.

I grinned and turned on the radio.

_ Numerous reports of mass suicides similar to those that took place in New York City have begun to appear in other major cities around the globe including Tianjin, Guangzhou, London, Seoul, Lima, Cairo, Tel Aviv, Mexico City, and most recently in Saint Petersburg and Miami yesterday. The estimated dead in these bizarre and very disturbing cases is in the thousands. Authorities have yet to determine an agreed upon cause— _

_ I love myself, I want you to love me. When I feel down, I want you above me— _

_ War spills over from Saudi Arabia and threatens the entire region. With Najd-inspired rebellions in Tunisia, Lebanon, and Iraq— _

_ North Korean and South Korean officials have come to a tense agreement of a ceasefire following a Chinese intervention on Monday— _

_ We’re just getting started— _

_ If I was invisible, then I could just watch you in your room— _

_ Anonymous threatens the Vatican and other major Catholic authorities following the Vatican’s refusal to allow Italian and Interpol authorities to investigate allegations of child sex trafficking following the discovery of Giovanni Abbatescianni, a seven-year-old boy abducted from his home last year— _

_ The White House continues to monitor for a rumored terrorist attack following a series of small lone wolf attacks last year. From a declaration by the Secretary of State, there is credible evidence that the government reformist and anti-government movement, the Redeemers, is connected with the infamous anarchist, Cesar Mendez and at least partially linked to the terrorist threat and that — _

_ Your time has come— _

_ When everything’s made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am— _

_ The World Health Organization has confirmed dozens of reports of a yet to be classified flu-like contagion in Hong Kong, Seoul and most recently in Shanghai. The contagion appears to be related to the seasonal flu in its symptoms except a seemingly degeneration of brain functions that results in aggression and bouts of psychotic episodes. Several deaths in connection with this new disease have been reported in— _

I sighed and turned off the radio, laughing off that last story and at myself. What was this? More bath salts and undead scares? I shouldn’t be worrying about that kind of thing. Worrying took way too much energy, anyway. But what made me confused was the radio itself. For some reason, the radio kept glitching. Maybe some interference? It happens all the time.

“Man, what’s the world coming to?” Marcus questioned. "Mass suicides?”

“What’cha think’s goin’ on?” I asked.

“Hell if I knew. Some kind of cult? Fuck I don’t know?”

“More of ‘em? That fuckin’ cult we took down back then was bad enough. Gave me nightmares for weeks,” I noted.

“What about the Church of God’s Deliverance, could they’ve been the cause?”

“How? We snuffed their asses last month,” I said. "Their leaders are in jail, their church bulldozed.”

“Can you kill a weed without pulling out its roots?” Marcus asked me.

I sighed, not answering. Turning back, I refocused on the traffic. I sank into my seat and my vision became unfocused. This was like the thirteenth time the world was supposed to end in the last twenty years. What made this year any different? It was too stupid to pay attention to so I continued to stare out into the flow of traffic.

An hour later, we called the station telling them we were on our meal break. When our call for a break was accepted, we headed down the Ninety-fourth to one of my favorite eateries, a nice little brunch place. Living in New York, you learn a few things. The subways are to be avoided at all costs. If someone asks for directions they ain’t from here. And finally, brunch was the greatest thing ever invented after free samples and ice cubes. Since it was sunny and warm outside with only a light breeze, we decided to eat by the open door. It was a nice day so why not? I sat down at the nearest round table, a tiny little thing. I leaned back against the wall as Marcus went to the counter to order for us. I was in the mood for a nice omelet. Oh, the oozing cheese and the sprinkle of salt, I was starving.

After fifteen minutes or so, I spotted him from the corner of my eye carrying two trays.

“Sorry for the wait,” Marcus said, placing our orders onto the table.

“No problem,” I nodded. "All’s I care ‘bout is my omelet.”

He sat down across from me. People walked past us in and out of the open doors of the crowded restaurant, mostly average-looking folks and the occasional family.

“Man, you heard about that Mendez guy?” Marcus asked, pointing to the tv behind the counter. "Some scary shit those anarchists.”

“Aah, not him again,” I groaned, facepalming. "Can’t he just pack his shit and go to Somalia? If he hates government, he’d love it over there.”

I cut into my omelet.

“He makes too much money riling up the idiots," he grinned, rolling his sleeve up. "Same with his friend, that Patrick Jones guy. They’re stoking the fires.”

He began cutting into his eggs.

“They got mass murder pills, FEMA death camps, I tell ya!” I said, mimicking the conspiracy nut’s voice as best as I could.

Marcus laughed.

“He’s been sayin’ the same shit for the last, I dunno, ten years?”

I cut the cheesy omelet and sank my teeth into a forkful.

“More than that, probably," he added.

“Mmh, and with the latest Health Bill, their supporters are goin’ to think he’s some sort of prophet or some shit,” I sighed chewing. "I don’t wanna deal with another anti-vaxxer shitstorm, again. That measles outbreak was bad enough without them destroying that supply of vaccines.”

“We got bigger problems to deal with," he said. "Until we clock out of work, we’re going to be busy.”

“Oh yeah, what now?” I asked, taking a sip of my orange juice. "I wasn’t payin’ attention when Patterson was talkin’.”

“He said to keep our eyes out for this group called the Redeemers,” Marcus said.

“Oh yeah, the dudes on tv rioting in Chicago over some new gun bill, right?”

“Yup.”

Marcus, you’re worryin’ too much. What are they gonna do? Secede? If so then good luck to ‘em. These Right-wing fucks are always saying that.”

“But that’s the thing. This Redeemers movement is garnering support across the board from what I’ve heard. And their not after seceding.”

"You make it sound like it’s a fucking revolution,” I asked.

“That’s what they want. They want to bring down the government. That means us, too.”

I laughed.

“Good luck to ‘em then. How big is it?”

“They claim to have ten million members.”

“Ha, gay! These groups always fudge their numbers to look scary. At most a couple thousand schmucks.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Marcus, really. You’s worryin’ over nothin’.”

We stopped talking and ate in silence for a while, giving small remarks on things we noticed. Taking another bite that was exceptionally cheesy, I smirked.

“Man, this omelet’s awfully ‘cheesy’,” I joked, proudly wiggling my eyebrows.

He sighed. "This is why you’re single, you humorless schmuck.”

I pouted.

“They just can't take the heat. They’re ‘fraid of me ‘n my ‘runny’ jokes. Hey, Marcus.”

“What?”

“What cheese can fly?”

“No, I refuse.”

“C’mon, ask.”

He exhaled, sharply, a smile forming on his face.

“Which one?”

“Curds of Prey!” I shouted.

He rubbed his temples stifling a tired laugh. The other patrons gave amused looks.

“Dammit,” a patron smirked. "It’s too early for puns.”

“I try my best, servin’ the community and all,” I shrugged, sarcastically. "Eh, what’s the saddest cheese?”

The patrons gave a collective groan.

“Blue cheese!” I laughed, others joining me.

“Morgan you’re killing me,” Marcus groaned.

I turned back to Marcus, he lowering his voice as people returned to their meals.

“We’ll probably get more work later," he noted.

"The concert?” I sighed and leaned back in the chair.

“Yup,” he nodded.

“Well shit, we’re on crowd duty this afternoon, right?”

“Yes," he said.

“Uh-oh, don’t tell me, we’ll be on foot?”

“Yup.”

“High chance of death?”

“Most likely," he said, nonchalantly.

I pulled out my sunglasses from my breast pocket and put them on, crossing my arms and leaned back.

“Bring it on. Falls off waterfall.”

A woman walking past us gave us a weird look, tittering at me.

Marcus snorted and we both laughed.

“Alright Kuzco," he rolled his eyes.

“I try my best,” I shrugged my shoulders, taking another bite of my omelet.

After a few minutes, we finally finished and we relaxed watching the traffic pass the eatery.

I turned to Marcus who was picking his teeth with a toothpick. His eyes were closed in content.

You should join us tonight," he suggested opening an eye. "We’re gonna watch the fireworks.”

I waved him off.

“Eh, I would feel outta place,” I said.

“How so?”

“Well, y’know about me and get-togethers. It just ain’t my scene. Remember that stupid ballroom dance Tasha made us go to?”

“Yeah, who’d you dance with again?”

“A floor lamp.”

Marcus stifled a laugh as he clutched his sides.

“What? A floor lamp?”

“Shuddap, no one wanted to dance with an elephant-footed schmuck like me okay? I just wanted to have fun, too. Y’know?” I said, fidgeting with my hands in my lap.

Marcus’s gaze softened as he placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said.

I patted his hand in recognition and nodded. He released his hold.

“Anyway, it wouldn’t help to spend some time with Brianna and Kelly. You are their Godparent, after all.”

“True, but—”

“Morgan, you’re going," he ordered. "Besides, the rest of the squad’s coming.”

“Eh,” I sighed.

“Ian’s coming, too,” he winked at me.

“I punched him in the arm.

“Shuddup,” I chuckled. "It ain’t like that.”

“Sorry,” he laughed.

“I’ll come,” I said.

“Great, after our shift we’ll be watching the fireworks at Sheep’s Meadow.”

“Alright,” I nodded. "Sounds good.”

I tossed the last shreds of cheese into my mouth. I couldn’t win against him when he set his foot down. Marcus looked at his watch.

“Wow, it’s already one-thirty.”

“Break’s already over,” I sobbed, facetiously.

He chuckled, grabbing our plates. Walking to the counter he handed the woman our trays.

“Alright, we’ll I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick.”

“Okey dokey, I’ll start the car,” I said.

As Marcus entered the bathroom down the way, I took a cig out. Walking out of the restaurant and onto the populated sidewalk, I sighed. I leaned against the driver’s door of our cruiser and lit my cigarette. Taking a drag, I looked up to the bright blue sky. This whole week was beautiful. No rain or cloudy sky all week. The smoke and the scene about me was so calming. Today was going to be a good day, busy but good. I was going to see Ian. We’ll have a blast just like back at the Aquarium. I smiled to myself as I took a final drag. Snuffing the cigarette butt in the ashtray by the cup holder through the window, I slipped in. Turning on the engine, I turned the knob until I reached my favorite station. As the current song changed, I beamed as a familiar tune went live. I shook my head a little bit as the song picked up. A few songs later, Marcus slide into the car as well.

“That took a while, you’s givin’ birth in there?” I asked.

“Them chalupas we had last night didn’t sit right,” he groaned, jokingly.

I laughed, loudly as I pulled out of the street and headed back towards Fifth. I was waving my arms like noodles as another song played on the radio. Marcus mocked me as I shook my head around like some Americana girl. As I was about to pull out onto Madison Avenue, the radio went off.

“Ten-ten, proximity alert. Be advised, we got a possible crime in progress, suspicious driver coming southbound on Fifth Avenue and East Hundred-and-fourth,” the dispatcher announced. "Suspect’s driving a black van, pulled several red lights.”

“Morgan, that’s right by us,” Marcus said.

I nodded, clutching the mic.

“Ten-four, this is Officer Morgan. CPP Patrol Four-MS in vicinity, preparing to intercept, ten-sixty, over.”

“Ten-four, Four-MS.”

I sighed. "Alright.”

Pulling onto the intersection of Fifth and East Ninety-fourth, I saw the car coming. It was a black van like the ones I saw earlier. It was coming rather quickly. I flipped our lights on to tell him to stop. I inched forward to block his path but to my annoyance, he abruptly turned and drove onto the sidewalk, zipping past us back down Fifth. He must’ve been going sixty. Then to my horror, I heard screams and a loud crash. I jerked my head to my left. The fucker smashed into a group of pedestrians that couldn’t get out of the way, sending a few flying into the air. When they landed, I saw them struggle to get back on their feet, blood everywhere.

“Christ!” Marcus exclaimed.

“Motherfucker!” I shouted, giving chase, blaring the siren.

I zipped down Fifth after him.

Marcus grabbed the mic.

“Dispatch, this is Officer Simpson. Ten-eighty, in pursuit. Ten-fifty-two! We got a hit and run on Fifth and Ninety-second, requesting a bus.”

“Copy that, sending a bus from Mount Sinai.”

Our cruiser bolted after the bastard’s van like a cheetah. The van swerved around cars, slamming into others. But it didn’t seem to be abated. I had to be careful myself and as a result, we were trailing behind this asshole. Luckily, the cars around his pulled over to the side. As we zipped past the Museum of Art to our right, our windshield suddenly exploded. We were being peppered with rounds. The motherfucker was shooting at us. Marcus and I instinctively ducked so that only our eyes were above the dash. My heart was pounding now.

“Dispatch! Shots fired, black van heading southbound on Fifth Avenue. Suspect has a gun, repeat, suspect has a gun. Requesting assistance.”

“Copy that, Officers heading eastbound on West Fifty-ninth.”

More shots were fired. Having enough, I smashed my fist into the windshield. After a few whacks, the already weak glass fell away onto the hood in a single pane allowing me to see again. Zooming past Central Park Zoo, it was then that I realized that the van was heading in the direction of the Plaza Hotel.

Slamming my foot on the accelerator, I drew closer to the van. A few more shots nearly hit me so I slowed down again. The van drove onto the sidewalk and slammed into a small gathering of people, sending more people into the air. Goddammit! People ran everywhere, seeking cover from the coming gunfight. By the time we reached Central Park South, the streets were empty of people; they were all hiding in the buildings. The van halted right out front of the red velvet steps of the hotel main entrance on Grand Army Plaza. I stopped the cruiser behind the fountain across the street. We quickly got out and pulled out our pieces and huddled behind the fountain. I peeked over the top and saw several figures rush out, five took cover behind the van and other parked cars and one ran into the hotel.

“What the fuck do we do?” I asked. "One went into the hotel.”

“We gotta hold them here,” he said, panting. "I’ll call backup.”

He exhaled, grabbing his mic.

“Dispatch! We got a major crime on Fifth and Central Park South. Multiple Ten-thirty-twos. Gunmen at the Plaza Hotel. Ten-seventy, Borough-wide alert. Requesting assistance! High civilian count.”

“Copy that, sending backup. Hold your position.”

“Ten-four. And get me a bus. We got wounded on Fifth and East Sixty-first.”

The suspects shouted amongst each other and began firing at us, shattering the car window and puncturing the cruiser. Glass flew everywhere. I cowered to avoid the glass shards. They must’ve had a damn machine gun; the spray of bullets was endless. People that were running were being gunned down. I saw a woman hit in the leg, tumbling behind a car.

“Shit, motherfucker!” I shouted, peeking over the edge. "What's this? Payday?”

Aiming at one of the gunmen, I fired several shots, trying desperately to provide cover for the fleeing civilians. The man at the far right ducked and my rounds hit the stone steps behind and the van’s hood, buying a few seconds for anyone around to hide. I ducked as quickly as I shot to avoid the hail of bullets that were returned. Behind us, along the stones tiles around the fountain, blood was everywhere. People were hiding behind whatever they could. I grabbed my mic.

“Patrol 4-MS to CCP command. We ne—need some heavy firepower at the Plaza Hotel! Heavy civilian concentration?”

“Dispatch to 4-MS. Hold your position,” was all the dispatcher said.

“There’s fuckin’ civilians out here! Some’ve been shot!”

Nothing.

“Fire in the hole!” I heard a gruff voice shout.

I shook like a rag doll. Suddenly, I heard something beeping in the air. Looking up, my eyes became saucers, a PVC with a timer spun and landed beneath the cruiser.

“Shit! Pipebomb!”

“Fuck! Get away!” Marcus shouted, getting up to his feet.

I didn’t know it but I felt my legs move on their own. I leaped over the fountain, firing rounds in their direction, pinning them down as I ran from the bomb. My body moved on its own. As they fired at me, I sprinted across West Fifty-eighth street to my left and dove behind a mail truck. As soon as I landed on the hard concrete, a deafening explosion ripped through the air. I looked over my shoulder to see our cruiser engulfed in a fiery inferno. Marcus was huddling behind a car on Fifth and Central Park South, a good two hundred feet from me. People were screaming as the gunmen threw several more pipe bombs our way, exploding and sending shards of concrete and nails everywhere. I ducked to avoid the maelstrom of shrapnel.

“Morgan, get back!” Marcus shouted.

As I was about to do exactly what he said, a thought came to mind. I peeked over the hood of the truck. We were in a triangular formation. I was to the far left, the gunmen ahead and Marcus to my far right. I gulped as it suddenly became clear to me. My body was on autopilot and I felt myself acting foolishly.

“Marcus cover me, I know what I’m doin’,” I said, confidently into the mic.

I didn’t recognize my voice.

“Fuck!” He cursed, firing at the van covering me as I swung around their left.

One of the gunmen fired, barely missing me as I leaped onto a car, rolling behind it for cover.

“Alright! I’m good!” I shouted, barely twenty-five feet from the entrance.

“Morgan, Since you’re there, do you have a clear run for the entrance?” Marcus asked over the radio.

“Uhm, let me see,” I panted into my mic.

I quickly peeked over the edge of the car. The gunmen were out of my line of sight. I was to their right while Marcus was to their left.

“I think so. I’m gonna need some coverin’ fire.”

“Got it,” he said. "Make it count!”

I then heard a hail of bullets smash into the black van as the gunmen readjusted their positions accordingly. Taking my chance, I sprinted for dear life across the street in a diagonal angle from Marcus. Thank goodness I was in track since I was able to dash quickly across the street. I slammed myself against one of the pillars of the entrance, my gun clutched in my hand. Spinning around, I scuttled behind the pillar as one of the gunmen fired at me. Marcus returned fire to cover me, hitting one in the arm as I continued up the stairs behind them and into the lobby as several other squad cars arrived.

“Okay, I’m in,” I said, clutching my mic.

“Good” Marcus said over the radio, ‘Dispatch, ten-thirty-one. We got multiple gunmen in the Plaza Hotel, one has entered the building. We are engaging the suspects now!”

“Copy that, major crime alert. All available officers to—”

“My partner and I were separated. She’s in the lobby.”

My radio became scrambled. I tried clearing the signal but the knobs did nothing.

“Dispatch? Dispatch, respond,” I groaned.

I heard screaming in the lobby. I wiped my brow as I entered the foyer. It had several people hiding behind the wall opposite of me entering. The two open pathways on either side of the wall lead into the lobby. As soon as I stepped further into the foyer, the sound of a man’s murmurs echoed in the dead silent lobby. I ducked behind the wall opposite of the entrance where a woman was crying, hugging herself.

“You’s okay?” I whispered.

She nodded.

I grabbed my mic, whispering.

“This is Officer Morgan. My partner and I are engagin’ the suspects in the Plaza Hotel, high civilian count, over.”

I got nothing but static.

“Repeat, My partner and I are engagin’ the suspects in the Plaza Hotel. Requestin’ support.”

Nothing.

“Dammit,” I cursed.

I sat up and leaned against the wall leading to the lobby, reloading a fresh magazine. I was breathless, wondering the hell I was doing. Why was I in this situation? I should’ve stayed outside, waiting for backup. But no, I had to play hero and fucking run in here. I better get a damn bonus for this.

I heard laughing. It was the man we had pursued.

“Oh Morgan, come on out,” the voice was playful and disconcerting.

My body stiffened at the words. How the hell did he know it was me? How did he know my name? Was I that loud when I spoke on the radio?”

Suddenly my radio went live.

“Morgan, you better come out here right now or else.”

My blood ran cold; it was ice. The gunman’s voice was speaking through my radio. How was that possible, did he steal one of our radios? I exhaled and shook the fright from me. I wasn’t afraid of this asshole.

“How ‘bout you get on out with yer hands up. ya can’t win,” I said, loudly.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Why don’t you? We got all the time in the world,” the man said. "C’mon out. If you don’t this little lady’s gonna get it.”

“Help, he’s hurting me,” a woman’s voice cried.

I froze. Fucking hell, he's got a hostage.

“Five,” the man sang. "Four.”

I was sweating bullets.

“Three.”

“What do I do?” I mouthed. "What do I do?”

“Two.”

Shit, shit, shit!

“One.”

I scrambled up and ran through the other door.

“Zero,” the man smirked, looking at me.

I stood there, my weapon in hand. I was aimed at him. He was probably a good twenty feet away.

“Ah, the blues have arrived,” the gunman smiled, waving his gun.

He had dark blond hair combed back and was wearing a suit, wielding a pistol. He was holding a small, middle-aged woman in a headlock. She looked like one of those CFO-types.

“Ten-forty-three, hostage situation at Plaza Hotel,” I voiced into the staticky radio mic.

“Officer Morgan, the brave hero of this proud city for the capture of the Blain Cultists five years ago,” he said. "And isn’t she as lovely as always.”

“Drop yer gun. Yer under arrest,” I growled, tense and stiff as a board. "Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

He aimed the gun at the weeping woman.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Give up your weapon or she dies,” he commanded. "She’s not my target but I will kill her if you try and stop me.”

“Take it easy, aight? Yer buddies are keepin’ my friends busy so we have plenty of time to talk.”

I’m just talking outta my ass. I barely had any hostage negotiations training. I just had to keep him sated until the hostage negotiators arrived. I can do it; I can.

“I can’t just do that, Officer Morgan. There is much to do. Please, just give me your gun.”

“Relax, alright. There’s no need for this. You’s got a gun and I got one. We’re even right now. Just let her go and let’s talk.”

“Talking’s cheap. Action is what’s needed to bring down this corrupt government. Besides, we’re not even. I have the hostage and you don’t. Now give it here!”

“Chill, okay? If I give ya my gun then ya gonna shoot me and everyone in here.”

“If I wanted to do that, would any of these people still be around?” he asked back.

There must have been two or three dozen people in the lobby.

“I was in here for a good ten minutes, Officer Morgan. If I so desired what it is that you think I wanted, would any of them still be breathing? Please, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to talk… to you.”

I narrowed my eyes in distrust, glaring sharply.

“Hah? Me? What for?”

I mentally cursed. I had to deal with this fucked situation? What was this, some elaborate situation to get me alone with this fucktard? Dammit, I didn’t want this at all. This whole day was fucked. The sound of a large crowd outside and gunfire filled the air from the open door. The gunman stared at me contently.

“My friends appear to be entertaining yours, Officer Morgan.”

“Shuddap, fuck face,” I snapped, still aiming at his head.

“That is not a nice thing to say,” he smirked, squeezing the woman’s neck more and more tight.

The woman cried and whimpered as he held her, preventing her from breathing.

“Stop!” I shouted.

“Then give me the gun. Or I'll fucking blow her brains out!”

I growled in frustration, dropping my gun. Kicking it to him, I exhaled, enraged.

“Now, was that so hard?” he asked, dropping the woman to the floor.

She crawled away to her husband, I assumed, and hid behind a wooden desk. I meanwhile was contemplating my options if things turned south. It was then I noticed that the lights above were fading in and out in random intervals. When they did, the whole place was pitch black. This was my chance if I can jump him when he can see, I can end this.

“Now what the hell do ya want? You’s got my gun.”

He laughed.

“What the fuck? What do ya want?”

“To leave a message,” he said.

Huh? What the hell was he talking about?

“This government’s been acting against the will of the people for far too long. It’s time to take back our country.”

I mentally groaned.

‘Let me guess. You’s a Redeemer, eh?”

“Their cause is just. It’s time for revolution.”

“The hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout?” I asked. "What’s this have to do with me?”

“You’re famous amongst the people. They’ll listen to you. Listen to our cause.”

“I don’t think so, buddy. You’s scarin’ a lot of people, your buddies hurt a lot more.”

“It wasn’t our intention. We fight for the people.”

“Retard! How’s shootin’ them helpin’? You’re just a bunch of fuckin’ gun-totin’ terrorists!”

“No, we just—”

Suddenly, the lights faded. This dark was not a natural one. Normally you can see the slightest vestiges of light. But here, it was literally black, like oil. I heard screaming. It was a painful holler; it came from the man.

“No, wh—what’s happening to me.”

A cold chill wafted into the lobby and it made me convulse in shivers. I heard the cracking of bones and a deep hollar. It wasn’t from him.

“What the hell?”

People were screaming. Then the lights returned. The man was looking to the floor. Was this my chance? I took a step but then the man’s head jerked upward. The man’s gaze was different than it was before. It was unsettlingly fixed on me.

“Morgan,” the man spoke, his voice was flat.

“Um, ayuh?”

“We have been chosen by the ‘Son of Adam’ to appoint the Advocate, they whom the world’s fate shall be tied.”

I scoffed. "Buddy, methinks ya got a few loose screws.”

What was he a doomsday freak? Wasn’t he ranting on anti-government crap just a second ago?

“It must be done. The Advocate must advocate for Humanity less we all be condemned.”

“What’s that entail? Some fairy courtroom up in the sky?” I said lightheartedly. "Ya Redeemers are fuckin’s stupid.”

“Man must see to its own Fall. We must destroy the bonds of Man. Society must crumble to dust. Only then can its absolution be fulfilled. The Advocate must suffer the ills of Man’s rebuke.”

“What the fuck’s that even mean? What ‘bout ya stupid anti-government speel?”

The lights faded. I took a few steps forward. They came back on.

“So, uhm, what’cha sayin’ is that—”

“The kingdoms of Man must be rendered to dust! From its ashes shall the Temple arise and the final Rites be given upon the flesh of the Child of First Light. Then shall we be absolved of our sins.”

“Woah there. A little slower, please, you’s talkin’ a mile a minute.”

His eye widened in a crazed manner.

“We must appoint the Advocate. There is no time. The first Trumpet has sung.”

He began waving his gun around, wildly. People were scared outta their wits. I had to duck as he swung it my way.

“Shit, take it easy,” I demanded. "You’s gonna shot somebody. What ‘bout gettin’ me to understand yer cause?”

“Must appoint the one that shall suffer. The one that must advocate. You.”

“Again, what's this have to do with me—”

A deafening bang erupted in the air. People screamed and gasped as they turned to me. What were they looking at me for? Then it came to me. I felt as if a searingly hot iron rod was thrust into my chest. Things slowed down as I turned to the gunman. The barrel of his gun was smoking and aimed at me. Then I looked down. The blue fabric of my uniform was torn below my rib cage. It went right through my vest. A dark stain was forming around it and was spreading quickly. I yelped, pressing my hands, desperately, onto the area to halt the spread. My hands became wet as I vomited blood into the floor. Tears fell as I fell to my knees. I was shot in the chest.

Then he looked at me and his face changed. His eyes were no longer filled with a rage but emptiness. Then the lights went out again.

“Oh, s—shit,” I gagged.

I coughed blood onto the floor, the wound beginning to spill over in a constant stream. The lights turned back on. This wasn’t good. I—I needed help. It was like a bag of water was punctured with a pencil. I was sliding on the floor with my blood. I felt wheezy and squeamish. I whimpered, afraid.

“W—Why are ya doin’ this?”

“The Fall must be fulfilled. The Kingdom of Man must fall for the Temple to rise. By the hands of the Redeemers shall the nations of the Earth fall. The Advocate must be appointed, they who shall see death.”

Then the lights went out again but when they did, everyone was screaming. People leaped and ran deeper into the hotel or out of sight of this… sight. I heard whimpers; it was me. The man’s face was distorted, black oily liquid oozed out where his eyes would have been. He walked up to me.

“What the hell are ya?”

He laughed. But his voice was a mockery of a man’s voice. It was echoing and of an unnaturally deep tone. I could hear four distinct voices with this deep one taking center stage. What the fuck was this? Was my blood loss making me see and hear things?

Then I saw him place his thumb to my forehead. A searing pain, like a branding hot iron, burned on my forehead. I felt as if he was burning through my skull.

“Ahhh! F—Fuck,” I screamed.

“We are the Appointers. We seek to fulfill the charge to bring about the last of four. They, of whom, the world shall bear witness the sufferer of the advocation of Man,” he stated.

The black bile pouring from every orifice now.

He then raised his gun and fired and fired and fired. I heard six shots, maybe more. My head wobbled as I saw streams of blood escape me. I felt like I was being stabbed over and over again. This… wasn’t… good. I vomited more and more blood. I fell to my side. Shit, I-m—

“The world shall know of our works, for We are the first of four. We are the blight of the Condemned to rend the bonds of Man to dust. For thrones of the kings shall crumble, riches and treasures shall be cast forth into the flames of strife. All shall bear witness to the sorrow of the Advocate for the earth shall be awash in gore and misery never seen before ‘til not the singlest sole of unbled land remains. So it shall be in this hour of dogs, for We are the Blight of Rage.”

I struggled with all my might and wobbled to my feet but every time I slipped on my blood and tumbled harshly to the floor. My insides felt like there were torn apart. I was fading in and out of consciousness but it wouldn’ take me. Suddenly the radio went haywire with activity.

“Dispatch, ten-thirty-one. We got a crime in progress," an officer on the radio said.

“Location, over," the dispatcher requested.

“Black van. Heading fast northbound on Third Avenue. Suspect’s a white male, thirties, short black hair. Possible explosives on board. Over.”

“Copy that, ten-sixty-one. Officers on standby.”

“Dispatch, ten-four. Officers Thomas and Lockart preparing to pursue, over.”

“Copy that, Officer Lockhart, proceed with caution. Do not agitate.”

“Ten-four.”

It was heading down Fifty-ninth towards my direction.

“Dispatch! Visual contact on—”

I heard screaming from outside. It was hard to hear. My injury was making it hard to concentrate as I watched him walking back and forth, mumbling to himself. I was bleeding out. I struggled and with my failing strength, I knelt, desperate to cover my wounds.

“I see. So he was correct in nominating you.”

“Nommawah? What’cha sayin’.”

“You shall bring us the Child of First Light. Upon your shoulders will be the Fate of Man.”

He then walked away as the lights faded once more.

Suddenly, a massive crash exploded behind us by the entrance. People ran. I heard tires revving. I turned a final time as I felt the hood of a truck impact me in the abdomen, crushing my insides. My eyes widened as I saw my reflection in the windshield of the truck. My face was bloodied and disheveled. It carried me with it as it smashed through the lobby of the hotel.

People were screaming.

I could feel the wood and glass stab into my arms and back as it splintered. Suddenly, the whole world around me flashed in brilliant red and orange as the truck exploded. The stone walls of the hotel’s face smashed and flew wildly like sand. I felt the explosion suck me into it from the vacuum of air before rocketing me backwards across the lobby a good fifty feet away. I felt my back smash with a sudden impact into the stone wall opposite of the door. I had hit the interior balcony to the second floor. It felt as if my back shattered. My right arm and left leg crumpled like paper and I hollered until my voice gave out. I slid and fell down to the ground a good twenty feet down on my back. Glass and metal stuck in my body like a pincushion. A shard of glass was sticking out of my stomach. My head was spinning and rattled like a football player from a tackle. My face was getting moist. I knew blood was pouring from my nose, mouth and the puncture wounds in my body, not to mention the bullet wounds. My left eye was closed and I could feel blood pouring down my head. I grew weak, my body was limp. The fire’s roar I could hear as people screamed and cried. I lay there, unable to move or speak. I felt like vomiting but I couldn’t feel anything.

I didn’t know how long passed but then I heard a voice call out above me.

It was scrambled and muffled. My ears were ringing and I couldn’t open my eyes. The back of my head felt warm. Slowly, the ringing began to stop and the voice grew louder and louder and clearer.

“Morgan! Morgan, oh my god!” the familiar voice said.

“Get back here Marcus! It’s too dangerous!” another voice shouted.

Marcus?

I tried to speak but only blood came out. It splattered onto his face. Sorry Marcus.

“Shit! Don’t talk Morgan," he uttered. "Jesus Christ! Dispatch! I need a bus at the Plaza Hotel now! Officer down!”

I felt drops of water rain onto my face.

“Oh my god. oh my god, Morgan. Please—”

Was he crying? What a wimp. Where was I? It was getting cold in here. How much was that omelet, exactly? I thought the Plaza hotel would, at least, have some heating. Did I lock the door? Was the milk expired? Thoughts ran through my mind like an asteroid field, nothing was coherent or lasted. I wasn’t sure what had happened.

I opened my right eye. Everything was blurry but I could recognize that bald, brown head anywhere. My left eye remained closed.

“W—What’cha cryin’ ‘bout, pus—usy?” I gasped.

“Morgan, hang in there! Help’s coming.”

I felt as if my body was a sponge, I could feel holes throughout my body.

I tried my best to smile. However, I could feel the warmth drain out of me and it made it so hard to do so. I could feel the blood leaving my body and soaking my uniform.

“H—How do I look?” I asked, coughing up blood. "Am I still as pretty as Audrey Hepburn?”

“Christ, Morgan you look fine. L—Like a million bucks. Everything’s going to be fine.”

I could barely feel his hands gripping my left hand.

He was holding it to his chest like a precious memento.

I took a deep breath and could feel the glass and wood tear even further into me. I cringed and gritted my teeth as my vision became darker and murky. I squeezed his hand. Tears were streaming down my face from the excruciating agony I was in. It felt like a giant was crumpling me in his hands. I turned my head to my left side. People were crawling on the floor bleeding and hurt, crying and calling for help. Marcus, why aren’t you helping them? You said I’m fine so you should be helping them not me. It’s just a few scratches, right?

“So much for a quiet day, huh?” I wheezed. "Sorry Marcus. I don’t think I’ll be able to see the fireworks with ya.”

“Don’t talk Morgan, you’re going to be just fine.”

“No, I’m not,” I began to cry. "I’m not okay.”

He wiped my tears and blood from my face. His face was barely a few inches from me. I could feel his tears and his breath on my face.

“I—I’m scared,” I uttered.

“Everything’s going to be just fine, okay? The paramedics will be here and—and they’ll fix you right back up before you can say ‘give me seconds’,” he stammered.

I chuckled through the pain.

“Gi—Give me sec—guah, ack yak!”

My vision was blurry from the blood in my eyes. I turned to my left. I saw a girl standing in the middle of the room. She was wearing a white dress and a sunhat. She had such shiny black hair and was wearing a bright, familiar smile. It made me smile the same way. I didn't know why. Then I saw her extend her hand a man gripping it. The man’s back was to me but I recognized the sweater vest he was wearing, an old and parched up navy blue vest from the local thrift store. I choked up as tears flooded out of my eyes and onto the floor mixing with my blood that now extended a good ten feet in any direction. I’m not really okay, am I? Marcus? Why were you lying to me? I closed my eye and slowly drifted. Cold hands gripping me as sirens drew closer. Marcus was holding me to his chest.

“Morgan? Morgan! Wake up. Stay with me!” The familiar voice echoed in my mind. "Morgan! Don’t you fucking die on me, dammit! Morgan!”

The voice was getting farther and farther as if I had earmuffs on.

“The Morgan I know is too fucking chicken to die! Now wake up! Morgan!”

I could barely hear the voice now. I smiled. Everything was black. I couldn’t see anything now even though I felt my eye was still wide open. My hands fell to my sides, limp. The voice echoed in my mind and it made me feel calm. I’ll just take a little nap. I’m just tired. It’ll be fine. Then I’ll—

“Morgan!”

Dad?


	10. Why Does She Cry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mount Sinai Hospital is swamped with critical patients following the deadly shootout and bombing at the Plaza Hotel. In the Emergency Room, Things take a tragic turn for Doctor Ian Benson when his friend Marcus rushes into the hospital with Morgan in tow.

 

This was absolutely ridiculous, a complete and utter disaster. The Emergency Room was absolutely packed with people. It reminded me of those nightclubs with people shoulder to shoulder. I had to literally push people aside in order to help the flood of injured. The police were escorting the uninjured and those with the mildest of wounds to the side halls so there would be room for the more seriously injured in the lobby center. There was a lot. It was a desperate attempt to clear the lobby, ineffective at best. There must have been at least a hundred plus people here with serious wounds from lacerations to shrapnel and bullet wounds. I saw a man who had his leg crushed by a chunk of concrete and stone. Another, a woman was shot in her leg. I was given no information about what had happened except the fact that a gunfight and an explosion had occurred at the Plaza Hotel and that we had a multitude of injured. Since we were just up the road from the incident site, we were taking the brunt of the wounded. There was not enough time for a briefing. This was madness. I could not believe it when I heard the new nurse come rushing hysterical into the break room. Then the first victim came in through the doors and my attitude changed. Things went from zero to a hundred in that single instance.

The morning was slow. I had just finished a bad case of food poisoning with a little girl when a woman came frantic into the Emergency Room with her son. He was from Brooklyn. The boy had become erratic and feverish that night and was suffering from severe dehydration and hunger. Apparently he had wandered into some sort of maintenance tunnel or shaft near his home a few days early. He had been down there for three days just wandering around, most likely lost. He had told his mother he had wandered down the shaft and entered some sort of chamber on the second day with a large basin in the middle of what appeared to be oil. He had heard a noise and fallen in. After that, his memories were fragmented. He awoke just at the mouth of the maintenance tunnel he first wandered into somehow. I surmised he had contracted some sort of bacterial infection which resulted in his fever and from his weakened state from a lack of nutrition and water. I mean, who knows what was down there. Luckily, the mother knew one of the night nurses here so she did not have much difficulty securing a spot for her boy here. And we were glad to have him. We had him tested and in the General Wing in no time. He took the longest out of any of my patients that morning. It was slow and relatively quiet. However, that made me feel a bit uneasy. Walking around doing nothing was something I could not stand. It was just too quiet and monotonous. I liked my job so why would I goof off and do nothing? After he had been moved to a bed and given a general antibiotic, I went on my break. It was half past one so work was relatively slow compared to the morning commutes and checkups. I had just finished my lunch when my phone went off.

“Multiple injured at Plaza Hotel. Prepare for high critical patient influx,” it read.

I had never seen so much blood. My God, the whole floor was stained red and the white walls were splattered with maroon-colored hand marks. It was like a slaughterhouse or a horror film here. My lab coat was stained like a painter’s smock with blood and whatever else. I was not some military surgeon; I was just a doctor.

I took a deep breath and looked up from a patient I had just dressed.

Triage was always a hard thing to do, sorting out those most needing of care from those that could wait. It was hard to look someone in the eye and tell them they had to wait. But it was exactly what we needed to do. We could not treat them all at once, despite how much I wanted the opposite. That was unrealistic. The man’s wounds were minor compared to the others, surface cuts and bruising from what I suspected was a fall. There were just a few cuts and some burns, nothing antiseptic and a cold patch could not fix. The others ranged from cuts to full blown internal bleeding and lacerations and even critical in some instances. We got those to emergency surgery immediately as they arrived. Luckily, we had a full staff to compensate for the large number of injured. Jesus—was the city under attack?

I shook my head as I tied a bandage on the man’s arm. I needed to clear my head if I was to do my job.

“Thank you, Doctor," the man thanked, shaking my hand. "It feels a lot better.”

“No problem, just doing my job,” I nodded, turning to treat another.

A woman sat slouched, clutching her head. She was bleeding and looked tired.

“Ma’am, I’m going to do a quick check, is that okay?”

She nodded.

I moved her hand from her head slowly and saw a rather nasty cut along her temple and bruising on her cheek. It was slowly oozing blood.

“Nurse! I need a pressure bandage over here.”

“Yes, Doctor,” a woman in scrubs replied, handing me an unopened package.

I wrapped the bandage around the woman’s head.

“Now I need you to keep constant pressure on the cut for twenty minutes. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“Can you tell me what you are feeling? Lightheaded? Drowsy?”

“It just really hurts.”

“Is it a sharp pain or a throbbing one?”

“Throbbing," she uttered.

“Does it feel like it’s emanating from within the skull?”

“No, it just hurts from the cut.”

“Okay, you’re going to be fine, ma’am. The cut wasn’t too deep," I explained. "I’ll have someone help you in a moment, okay?”

She nodded at me.

“Patricia, I need you over here,” I shouted over the droning of the room.

A nurse shuffled to me.

“What do you need me to do?”

I stood up.

“I need you to get her out of here and into one of the side halls,” I said. "Start her off with fifteen milligrams of Oxycodone, tablet form. Sterilize the wound and have her sutured up.”

“Got it, leave it to me," she said, helping the woman up.

I patted her on the shoulder as I left to see to another patient. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice shout from the crowd.

“Make way!” he shouted. "Where’s Doctor Benson?!”

I turned to the noise; it was by the doorway to the parking lot.

“Marcus! Over here. We could use some extra hands,” I shouted back, waving over the crowd. "If the patient can wait then take them to the side hallway on your left! We’re swamped here.”

“Ian, I n—need you right now. It’s Morgan.”

What did he say? At first, it did not register with me. I had to process it for a moment. Then it hit me.

“Morgan?” I asked, hesitantly.

“Morgan’s dying Ian! We need help.”

My face turned cold, a sharp chill ran down my spine. I froze and my heart dropped. I turned to him.

“What?”

“She needs help now, Ian! She’s dying!”

I swung to his direction and dashed to him without a second thought, weaving through the crowd to reach him. My eyes were wide with morbid anticipation. My heart was beating against my chest like a drum. The world narrowed and quieted for me like I was in a tunnel, fixed on a single objective. As I pushed a police officer away, I sucked in a breath. Morgan was laying on a stretcher. A pang erupted from my heart.

She was soaked in blood and her uniform was torn. Her body was broken and so frail-looking. Her uniform top was torn open to expose her torso which showed a ghastly scene. Her gray tank top was torn to ribbons and soaked in dark blood. Shrapnel and glass shards stuck in her lower abdomen and limbs. Several bullet wounds were being pressed down with gauze and bandages. One wound was just below where her heart should be. I gulped. Her body was bruised, marring her pale skin. Burn marks were present on her arms and neck. They were not too serious compared to the puncture and bullet wounds and could wait for treatment. However, the most salient wound was a deep passing gash to her left side. It might have cut her kidney. If it did then she—I needed to get her into the operating room right now. I saw her wounded face and I choked up. A manual resuscitator was covering her mouth and her short black hair cascaded down the stretcher like burnt curtains. Marcus was squeezing the bag to let her breathe. Her right eye was half open and her gray iris was flat and dull. A brace was around her neck to keep it in place and she was strapped in. She was unresponsive and unconscious and from the large bruising on her head and face, anyone could tell she had suffered a head wound. But to what extent I had no idea. I looked up from her to Marcus and the paramedic beside him.

I exhaled sharply, refocusing to the present situation and pushing any needless worries away.

“What happened to her?” I asked, attempting my best to level my voice.

“Th—There was a gunfight at the Plaza Hotel. She engaged the suspect inside but sh—she got shot. T—Then a car bomb was set off at the Hotel. She got caught in the blast,” Marcus gasped.

I nodded stiffly and turned to the paramedic, motioning them to push the stretcher forwards through the crowd towards the main hall.

“We made sure to brace her and realign her spine and neck,” the paramedic said.

I nodded.

“This can’t be happening,” I heard Marcus utter to himself. "Christ.”

“Anything else?” I asked, returning my attention to the paramedic. "What about her cardiac status? Her breathing?”

“We managed to restart her heart which had stopped four times back on the way here. But it’s extremely weak. She wasn’t breathing either so we are assisting in oxygen ventilation," the man said. "I believe she has a collapsed lung.”

I nodded, writing as much as I could on my notepad.

“Doctor, she’s lost a lot of blood, at least, half. Six rounds went through her, one grazed her left lung, I believe. She’s suffering from class IV hemorrhaging. She’ll die if she’s not in surgery immediately.”

“Oh God,” Marcus gasped.

I touched her forehead and checked her heartbeat. It was rapid and weak. And she was very cold to the touch like a corpse.

“She’s in hypovolaemic shock. We need to close these wounds and get her a blood transfusion right away,” I noted.

“Her blood pressure’s very low, Doctor. She needs surgery now.”

“Alright, go and help the patients here,” I requested to the paramedic.

“Yes, Doctor.”

The paramedic departed to see to a patient.

I turned to Marcus just as we passed through the crowd towards the main hallway. Several nurses and orderlies joined us.

“Marcus, check her wallet. What blood type is she?”

“Is she an organ donor?” one of the nurses asked. "We might need to prepare for—”

“Do not finish that thought,” I snapped. "She’ll be absolutely fine.”

“But Doctor Benson, we should have all our options on the table.”

“She’s right Doctor. If she’s lost this much blood and is brain dead, we should get Doctor Ferguson for organ acquisition before the organs become unviable.”

“Nonsense, she’ll make it! I will not have any of this until absolutely necessary,” I growled, losing my composure. "Dammit, now what is her blood type, Marcus?”

He rummaged through her wallet and found her donor card.

“O-negative," he read, shakingly.

“Shit!” I snapped. "She needs O-negative then. Jayne, what’s our stock on O-negative?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Get Doctor Lindbergh. Tell her we need as much of whole O-negative blood in the ISU immediately. If there is none then get some from the other hospitals or get me O-positive. Understand?”

“Yes, Doctor,” One of the nurses said, departing down a side hall towards the blood bank.

I turned back to the other nurses.

“Get Doctor Singh!” I shouted. "Tell him to prep for emergency trauma surgery immediately. We have less than ten minutes. We need to stop the bleeding now. And get Doctor Tsunoda! Morg—This officer is unconscious and most likely suffering from a traumatic brain injury, possible swelling or bleeding in the skull.”

“Yes, Doctor!”

The lead nurse in front of us nodded and ran down the hall. Her subordinates helped us push the stretcher down the hall as well to the intensive care ward.

I turned to Marcus as we ran.

“Marcus, I need you to stay here and help out with triage and assist the nurses.”

“What about Morgan? I can’t just lea—”

“Get it together, Marcus! You’ll do more for Morgan by helping the people here and giving us some breathing room!”

He was rubbing his head in surprise.

“Got me?!” I asked, more of a demand. "Morgan doesn’t have time.”

I looked Marcus over. His uniform as covered in Morgan's blood. My sharp gaze softened.

“Y—Yeah," he nodded, reluctantly turning to the Emergency room. "I got it.”

He looked back at Morgan then to me. His face was now back to its resting determined expression.

“There’s always work to be done," he said.

“Always,” I replied.

He ran down the hall and disappeared into the crowd of injured people.

My breathing was erratic and my heart was beating like a piston. I took a deep breath and turned to the nurses.

“What are you waiting for?” I asked. "Let’s go.”

With that said, we quickly pushed the stretcher down the hall as quickly as we could. We were running. Reaching the intensive care unit lobby, Doctor Singh, a large Sikh man ran to me with a concerned look on his face.

“This the woman?" He asked.

“Yes,” I replied, quickly.

He gripped the stretcher and led us down the main lobby of the ICU to one of the surgery rooms.

“What’s the diagnosis?” He asked.

“She’s lost over half of her blood, O-negative, and is in hypovolaemic shock from lacerations and puncture wounds to her chest and abdomen. One of her lungs may be collapsed. I don’t know if any of her organs has been damaged but I believe she’s suffering from a traumatic brain injury, most likely to the back of her head and she’s got blast injuries and burns. Breathing is manual and her pulse is weak.”

He nodded and wrote it down on his clipboard.

“Ian, you should head back to the ER. We’ll handle this from here.”

“With all due respect, Vinay, I must be part of this operation,” I said, sharply.

He turned to me with a knowing look.

“Ian, you must know that you would be of better use back in the ER.”

“But I’m specialized in Trauma medicine, Vinay,” I objected. "I was back there. There weren’t anyone that required immediate surgery that is not already receiving it. Morga—This police officer needs all the expertise she can get if she’s to have a fucking chance!”

I had risen my voice louder than I should have. People were looking at me in surprise. I lowered my gaze and gripped the man’s shoulder.

“I—I’m sorry,” I apologized.

He patted me on the shoulder and gave me his famous smile.

‘Ian. It’s fine I understand your feelings. But I must insist that—”

“Please Vinay,” I begged. "Let me participate in this surgery. She does not have time.”

He sighed.

“It cannot be helped. Get prepped for surgery!” he shouted.

“Got it,” I said.

“Nurse, get her prepped, saline drips, burn gel, the works! We need these wounds sealed. And notify the blood bank. She’s running on an empty tank here!” Doctor Singh ordered. "And get the surgical and operating team down here in five. I want that room sterilized and the equipment ready before I get there. And get a trauma team to the ER. They’re swamped.”

“Yes Doctor,” one of the nurses said. "Come on.”

The stretcher with Morgan was carted off by the nurses down the hall towards the Operating room. I watched in anxiousness as they disappeared down a corner. Doctor Singh turned to me.

“Don’t let your feelings get caught up in this, Ian," he warned. "You’ll do more harm than good if you do.”

I nodded and followed him down the hall to the preparation room. Entering the room, whatever we were feeling disappeared with a single objective in mind. Swapping my clothing out, I jump into the shower. I quickly scrubbed myself down and exited the shower. Donning on my scrubs and sterilizing my hands, I turned to Singh who was doing the same.

“Just follow my lead, Ian," he said, his back to me. "Don’t do anything rash. Not that you would or anything.”

“Okay,” I uttered. "Sorry for the inconvenience. I know pressuring you to let me join was selfish of me.”

“Not at all," he said. "It’s been awhile since we performed together. Besides, a man must do what he can for his woman, no?”

I coughed in surprise.

‘W—What? What makes you say that?” I gasped. "This officer's just a patient.”

“I saw the way you looked," he pointed.

He paused, putting on his cap.

“It reminded me of myself back in the day.”

I looked up to the clock. It was three-twenty. It had been twenty minutes already since she arrived.

“What do you think?” I asked. "About the surgery.”

“About the patient?” Singh replied.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I’m not sure. From the surface, she’s in dire straits. But internally I do not know. It may very well be worst than I am anticipating.”

I did not respond.

“Here," he said, handing me a box of surgical gloves.

I put them on and sighed.

With both of us finished getting ready, we headed for the operating room through the door. I put on my mask and cap. As I gripped the doors to open them. Singh grabbed my shoulder.

“Remember what I said. Do not let your feelings get in the way, got it?”

“I know,” I said. "They’ve never got in the way before. They won’t now.”

“Good, now let’s go.”

I closed my eyes and clasped my hands in prayer.

“God, steady my hands so that I may deliver life,” I uttered. "Amen.”

I opened my eyes and follow Doctor Singh’s lead. Please God, watch over us today. I then opened the doors to the operating room. I closed my eyes.

I did not know how long we had been at work before we managed to stabilize Morgan and suture her up. But once we did, I had collapsed onto the floor, exhausted. She was quickly hauled off by the hospital’s lead neurosurgeon, Doctor Tsunoda and his team for treatment. The last I saw of Morgan was her little bare feet as they disappeared down a corner to another operating room. but that was four hours ago. I was exhausted. After the surgery to remove the shrapnel and bullets and stabilize her, I had to return to the Emergency Room to help with the patients there. Compared to Morgan, everyone else was doing fine. The worst I noted was a deep laceration and second-degree burns over this woman’s body and a man with a crushed leg and burns. But they were stable now and in recovery. Everyone else was accounted for and either released or in the recovery or general wing. I looked at the clock above the lobby. It was three-forty in the morning, thirteen hours since the first patients came in. Now it was quiet, at least, compared to this morning. The halls were quiet and dark this time of night. Only a nurse here, an orderly there and the squeaking of a cart told me that I was not the only one in the hospital. They echoed with my footsteps as I departed from the sparse Emergency Ward, currently being sterilized, to the ICU. My heart had not slowed its tempo since I saw her. The surgery was grueling I have no idea the extent of her injuries beyond the physical. No one was sure how she would fare in these crucial days ahead. Would she live? Why was I such a mess? Could she go back to the life she had before this terrible event? I do not like uncertainty. I enjoy a routine. And with Morgan in her state, I was loathing every minute.

I felt my body shake and rattle the entire way to the ICU. Reaching the sterile room where Morgan was being treated and housed, I spotted Marcus sitting on a bench directly across from the large glass observation window. The hall was dark, save for the greenish-white fluorescent lights bleeding from the room and the red Exit sign down the hall. His head was in his hands and he was slouched over, asleep or just exhausted and still in his uniform. As I approached, he noticed me and looked up. I sat down.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, looking ahead. "How long have you been here?”

“Since she got out of brain surgery about an hour ago. I feel drained," he confessed. "How’s Morgan, is she going to be alright? I didn’t get any information from the nurses.”

“I don’t know,” I confessed, bitterly. "She’s got—let’s just say she’s lucky she's still alive.”

My lip quivered and I squeezed my hands.

"After we had halted the bleeding and patched her wounds up, we stabilized her as best as we could.”

I turned to Marcus. His face was trouble and I continued.

“From what Doctor Singh said, after a CT-scan and an MRI, Doctor Tsunoda said she had hairline fractures on the back of her head and has damage to her occipital lobe.”

“In English?” He asked.

“The part of her brain where visual information stored and interpreted. If she does wake, she might have hallucinations or even become blind. I don’t know until she wakes up.And that's if she wakes up.”

“Blind—s—This can’t be real. "What? If she wakes?”

I turned to Marcus.

He was growing more and more pitiful in his eyes as I gave him the details. He deserved that much.

“She suffered a severe concussion. The damage was so bad they say that she'll—Marcus. She’s in a trauma-induced coma. I don't know if she'll wake.”

“A c—coma?" He gasped. "Is she—”

I sighed.

“I don’t know,” I said, gritting my teeth and fisting my hands. "The danger of a coma is how unpredictable it is. Comas can last several days to several weeks, depending on how bad the injury was they can last longer. For Morgan, I would guess a few weeks if not more. After that time—either she’ll gradually come out of the coma, progress to a vegetative state, or—”

I exhaled sharply and placed my hand.

“I was not given the full details of the surgery or her status, myself.”

I held my head in my hands.

“Jesus,” Marcus uttered.

“Morgan,” I said, in the same position as him. "This can’t be happening.” 

“Everything was fine this morning,” he said.

I blew into my tissue and wiped my own eyes.

“I should never have suggested us to pursue the suspect. I should've told her to stay put," he cried. "If we just did the usually, she would still be fine.”

He started hitting his head in frustration and remorse, shouting and groaning. I had to restrain him and as I did, I realized he was crying. This was a man that did not even cry when his children were born or at his wedding. but here, he was bawling his eyes out like a child.

“Marcus,” I uttered in surprise.

“Fuck, I couldn't protect her yesterday at the shootout. Now I can't do anything for her now!”

“Marcus, look at me.”

He looked at me for reassurance and I gave him back my best attempt at a confident look. But even I was feeling skeptical, a voice in the back of my head shouting negative thoughts. But I did not show him it. I felt like my heart still firing like a piston and my words came out like a jumbled mess, a million thoughts clogging my mind.

“Don’t beat yourself up for that Marcus. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have know.”

“But if it wasn’t for my stupid fucking idea, none of this would have happened to her.”

“She’ll be fine,” I tried my best with a smile. "She’ll pull through this. I know she will.”

I looked away, unable to look him in the eye. I am sorry, Marcus. I lied to you just now. He wiped his face with his shirt.

“You should be getting on home. Marcus,” I suggested. "Tasha must be worried sick that you’re not home after all this.”

“Morgan has no family, Ian. Who will be here for her and worry about her if not me, her partner? I can’t just leave Morgan like this. She saved my life before and this is how I repay her?”

“There’s nothing left to do but wait and pray, Marcus,” I said. "Go to your family and clear your head.”

He sighed.

“Okay," he said, softly. "Then please look after her, Ian. She was quite fond of you so she’d appreciate the gesture.

“Fond?” I asked.

“Never mind," he shrugged.

“No, tell me,” I asked, grabbing onto his arm.

I wanted to know what he meant.

“I don’t think it’s for me to say," he replied.

He stood up and went to the glass observation window. He placed his hand on the glass and bowed his head.

“Don’t you die on me, Morgan. I need you. We all do," he said. "There’s always work to be done. So wake up soon, ya big oaf.”

I looked at him as he wiped his face with his sleeve and turned to me.

"She’s tough as nails and takes shit from no one, which is why she’s respected in the Precinct. But she’s more fragile than you might think,” he said.

I nodded.

“Please, look after her, Ian," he requested. "She won’t like it that people are worried about her but she needs someone that will.”

“I will, now go get some rest,” I said. "It’s been a long day for all of us.”

He nodded and walked down the hallway, disappearing down a corner.

I deflated and turned to where Marcus stood. I stepped forward and looked into the sterile white room. Morgan had a feeding tube and breathing tubes going down her mouth facilitating her breathing. She had tubes in her arms for her IV drips and for blood. A wall of medical machines flanked her and the incessant beeping of the monitors were the only sounds around. She was in a medical gown and she had bandages all over her arms and legs and the rest of her body to the point she looked like a mummy from those B-Horror films. The gauze and bandages wrapped around her head framing her delicate bruised face. Her right arm and left leg were elevated by wires from the ceiling. She looked so calm as if she was just sleeping.

I walked into the room and waved the nurse to see to another patient. Stepping beside the bed, I knelt beside her and held her bandaged hand, telling myself I was checking her pulse. I raised my head and looked at her face. My voice was caught in my throat.

“Morgan. I know you can’t hear me but please wake up soon. Everyone’s waiting for you. All your friends and coworkers are worried.”

I felt my throat closing on me from the tears forming in my eyes. I gritted my teeth.

“And me too.”

I exhaled and looked around in distress.

“Please don’t die, Morgan,” I said. "Who’s going to get my movie references and laugh at my jokes and tease me?”

I closed my eyes. I furrowed my brow and pressed her hand against my forehead.

“Who's going to make bad jokes and have me fuss over every damn day on?”

I exhaled sharply.

“I don’t know what it is I’m feeling and this is probably too late to say. But please—”

I stopped, the words caught in my throat. I inhaled and then exhaled violently. I felt calm, my breathing relaxed and I grew sad.

“Don’t let your feelings get in the way, huh?” I asked myself. "So much for not being too involved with patients.”

I looked up and sighed.

“I don’t want to lose you, Morgan. This is not just me saying as a friend.”

I felt her unconsciously squeeze my hand and her face was distressed and in pain. She was crying. Tears dripped from her closed eyes and down her cheek and to the pillow. I was taken aback by this. What Marcus said was true, wasn’t it. She looked so fragile here, like a beautiful, vulnerable girl. What troubled her? What made her cry like this? I wiped her tears from her eyes.

“How could so much pain happen to someone so small as her,” I asked, more so for myself.

Why does she cry? I wanted to know more about her. Seeing her crying face and holding her hand like this, I needed to know more. I needed to know her.

“Why are you crying, Morgan?”


	11. The Cogwheel Turns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after the bombing of the Plaza Hotel leaving Morgan severely injured, Ian finds himself in the midst of chaos and the beginnings of a vile conspiracy.

 

Yesterday was the Fourth of July. It was supposed to be the busiest day of summer here in New York City. The trains were supposed to be packed, the streets clogged with traffic and an energy of restless motion about. It was all quiet now. The streets were deserted, only the low murmur of people, mostly emergency workers and police told me that this city was still inhabited. I walked to the train station near my house. The Six train route was close to arriving so I held a quick walking pace down East Fourteenth Street towards Union Square. It had been barely twenty-four hours since the incident at the Plaza Hotel. I furrowed my brow as I remembered the previous day’s events. Police were still combing through the city for the suspects that managed to escape, three gunmen, including the one that shot Morgan. Morgan’s would-be murderer was loose out there. I made a fist. I hope they catch that son of a bitch. He’ll pay for what he did to her. She was still at the brink of death. Morgan was a mess. She had serious burns, bullet wounds, cracked and broken bones, lacerated... everything. If it was listed under traumatic, life-threatening injuries, she had it. This was not even mentioning her severe comatose state. She had not moved since she was relocated into the ICU recovery ward. This worried me deeply. Her brain injuries were not too bad compared to what I initially believed but they were still serious and nothing to sneeze at. She had experienced more force in the impact that sent her into a coma than if she had been hit with a sledgehammer with full force. I shook my head to rid myself of the thoughts. She was going to be fine. At least, that was what I told myself.

Refocusing on the street, I reached Union Square Station and descended down the steps. Swiping my transit pass, I stepped through and entered the platform. There were about two or three dozen people on either side, waiting for the North-South trains. I noticed that there were police officers on the platform, six of them in fact. Sometimes I would see a police officer at the train platform but not in this number. Usually they were at the pass booths and entrances. This was no doubt a reaction to the bombing yesterday at the hotel. I crossed the noisy platform and awaited just behind the yellow line. Looking over my shoulder, I noticed a woman struggling with her crying baby. She seemed exhausted. She noted me staring and gave a small smile.

"Sorry about him," she said. "He won't stop crying when he's in a crowd."

"It's fine, ma'am," I waved her concern off. "It's what babies do."

She nodded and turned back.

"You off to work?" I asked. "You seemed dressed up."

"Yeah," she curtly replied, "I'm dropping my son off on my way."

"Ah, I see," I replied. "Must be hard being a mother and working at the same time."

"I manage," she said. "What about you?"

She pointed to my business formal.

"Yes," I said, "I'm heading to Mount Sinai."

"Are you a doctor?"

"Ah huh."

"That's wonderful."

I rubbed the back of my head.

"I guess so," I laughed, embarrassed.

"I'm Eva," she smiled, extending her hand out. "Nice to meet you.”

I shook her hand.

"Ian," I replied.

"So work must have been rough yesterday from the bombing, huh?"

I nodded, sighing.

"I can't believe it myself," I said, "I was surprised that no one died from the attack."

"Why would the Redeemers do something like that? It doesn't make sense."

"Well, they're not one group so it would make sense that extremists would take up the name for their own goals."

"Manhattan's not safe anymore, huh?"

"Everything will be fine, the police are on it."

“I just hope my son will be okay,” she replied.

Suddenly, the rumble of the train was heard from our right heading northbound. I turned my head and saw the tiny white lights becoming larger.

"Look's like it's here," I said.

The train slowed and stopped in front of us. Doors slid open and people flooded out. Once it was clear, those of us waiting now embarked the train. There were few seats so I offered the free one next to me for the young mother. She thanked me and I stood up to grab the passenger rings above. the train doors closed and we continued down the track. The low, sultry voice of Ella Fitzgerald echoed through the train cars. I smiled as I plugged in my headphones and drowned the droning of the train with the flow of Stravinsky.

I closed my eyes and drifted into the sea of the orchestric thunderstorm. Suddenly, a few minutes since we departed from Union Square, I felt my arm being tugged. I opened my eyes and noticed the woman I met earlier. Eva gave me a concerned look. Taking my earbuds out, I leaned down.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Over there," she pointed to her right.

I turned to the direction she was pointing to. Beyond the crowds, there were some raised voices and loud noise in the next car over.

"Something's happening back there," she whispered.

The other people around were mostly indifferent and uninterested in the happenings beyond the subway car. A few were looking in the same direction but did not move.

"Shouldn't someone go over there and check?"

"It's probably nothing. Probably a hustler or fight," I said. "Nothing to worry about."

"A fight? Shouldn't someone help then?"

"You're not from around here, huh?" I said.

"Ah—no, I moved here not too long ago," she explained.

I nodded in understanding. The baby then began to cry again.

"Shoo, quiet Kyle," she cooed, patting her son's back.

The voices in the other compartment were getting louder and the noises as well.

"They're upsetting him," she said, referring to her son.

"I guess I can check it out then."

"Thank you," she said, bobbing her head in appreciation.

I nodded and turned. If I could help then—suddenly, the door between the two cars slid open and a man in tattered and wet clothing shuffled in leaving an inky trail of dirty black water behind him. Behind him, the people were shaken up and had the same expression, horror. He staggered forth with his hands outstretched. The other passengers lean to let him through paying no attention to him.

"Sir, are you okay?" I asked.

The man was unresponsive as he lumbered on towards my direction. It was then that I noticed his hands. They were malformed and gray, his fingers were fused together, his index and middle and his ring and pinkie finger, forming a talon-like grip. It was bizarre and made me on edge and disturbed. I furrowed my brows as I straightened my back. The other passengers were inching away from him as he walked forward. Suddenly, he raised his head and his face became clear in view. I stepped back, horrified. An audible gasp was heard from the other passengers. His eyes—his eyes were gone as if clawed out. A black fluid oozed from the empty holes and scratch marks. The other passengers must have also emerged from stupor since suddenly everyone erupted in screaming. I put my hands on Eva's shoulders and motioned for her to move.

"Sir, um, is there something you need," I asked, cautiously. "Are you okay?"

What was I saying? Of course he was not. His eyes were ripped out for Christ’s sake.

"Save me," he uttered, gargling his words as the same black fluid dripped from his mouth.

"Save you?" I asked.

What was that black bile?

"Alright sir, um, uh, please sit down here and I'll, uh, take a look at you, okay?"

"Save me," he repeated, shakingly.

"Yes, yes, I'll save you."

I cautiously had him sit on the seat beside me and I knelt at his feet. I pulled out a pocket flashlight and shined it in his face.

"D—Does it hurt anywhere?" I asked.

I did not want to get any closer to him. I’ve seen enough films to know what could happen.

"Save me, save me!" He was getting louder as he spoke.

"I can't do it if you don't tell me where it hurts," I said, a little louder.

He cried out and began to claw at his arms and neck. Blood came pouring out—no, it was not blood but more of that inky bile.

"Someone help me hold him down!" I shouted, struggling to restrain his arms without touching the black fluid.

Another man in a jogger's outfit came and helped hold down his flailing legs.

"Shit! I can't keep them down!" He said.

"Just try!" I shouted back. "Someone find the transit officer."

"Approaching Grand Central Station," the automated announcer said.

The sick man then screamed, craning his neck back to an unnatural length and pointed his face above. The bile was pouring out in spurts as he spoke and I had to step back to avoid it.

"What are you saying sir?" I gasped.

The other man retreated a safe distance, too.

"Save me! Save me! Advocate!"

His voice became an animalistic roar. My heart froze and my body was paralyzed. His voice was diabolical and inhuman as he cried out in agony.

"It's inside us all!"

Suddenly I noticed a quick flash of bright light in the front of the train to my left. Turning, a massive boom shock came rushing from the front. I heard screaming from the front then the train lurched forward so quickly I fell onto the floor. The sick man then lunged on me. I held him off as the train swayed back and forth like a serpent from the explosion or whatever it was. It was shaking wildly and it was making it extremely difficult to keep this man from—biting me? I kneed him in the groin which caused him to stagger back allowing me to breathe. Then the train twisted on its side. Metal screeched and sparks flew. The next thing I know was my chest slamming into the glass of the train, knocking the wind out of me and causing me to cough violently. My mind was in a daze. The screeching of metal on the rail was deafening as we skid into Grand Central Station, smashing into the platform pillars. Suddenly, I was lifted from the glass and thrown into one of the metal support poles in the cart, causing me to choke on the air. The lights were flickering in and out like during a power outage. Coughing and gagging, I was once again thrown, this time in the opposite direction when the train had finally halted in its maddening swaying. Once the train stopped, a flood of distorted sounds entered my ears. A radio crackled and I opened my eyes.

"Dispatch, Six train derailment at Grand Central Station!" The voice shouted, "I need buses here now!”

What? The train derailed? What on Earth?

The voice was muffled as if I was wearing earmuffs. I shook my head and the voices became clear. A sea of screams and anguished cries erupted all around. We had crashed into one of the station's platforms. Only a few weeks ago, we had a derailing and now again? This was surreal and I had no idea how to process it. I clawed my way to the torn open door of the train car which was now above me like an emergency exit on a school bus. As I gripped the edge, I noticed movement to my right. Eva and her child were curled into a ball. She was crying. My heart churned as I staggered to her.

"Eva, y—you okay?" I asked, still coughing.

"Yes, I think," she said, "Kyle's fine, too. He's crying."

I nodded and extended my hand.

She grabbed it and helped herself stand up. Walking her to the door, I lifted her and her son to grab the door frame. Once they climbed out, I did to. Now I was on my belly atop the side of the train which was on its side. I saw paramedics rushing down the stairs as well as police. Fires raged on and smoked filled the platform. People were crawling out of the train as well. A lot of them were bloodied and their clothes torn. Balancing myself up, I jumped onto the platform and into the arms of a police officer.

"You’s alright?" He asked me.

"Yeah, I think, just shaken up," I said.

He nodded and turned his attention to the next passenger coming out of the train as I did.

I prostrated myself on the ground and tried to collect myself. Turning to Eva and her son next to me, I gave a weak smile.

"How is he?" I asked.

"He's good, just a little bruising to his arm but he's fine."

"That's good."

"What happened? Another attack?"

"I don't know but you should probably get to a paramedic, that cut on your forehead might be serious," I said, pointing to her head.

She touched the wound and gasped.

"You're right, I—I'm bleeding,"

She slowly stood up, still cradling her son in her arms and began walking to one of the paramedics. Before she was out of earshot, she turned to me.

"Thank you," she said.

I nodded to her and sat up, watching as she was ushered out. Exhaling, I turned to my right and leaned on my hands. I stood up and walked to the officer helping an elderly woman down from the train.

"Need any help, officer?"

"Ah yes, thank you," he said, "I could use some help with getting these people down."

One by one, we got a good dozen or so people out of the train as more and more emergency workers arrived. Most of the injuries were broken bones or blunt force trauma. A few had cuts and internal bleeding. We got those to the EMTs right away. When we got the last passenger out, I fell back and sat down, exhausted.

"Thanks a lot," the officer said, wiping his brow.

I nodded back at him. Suddenly, Movement caught my eye. I turned to it. At one of the walls of the platform by one of the maintenance tunnel entrances, I saw a figure hidden in the shadows. It took a step forward and my body tensed. I saw the sick man from earlier. He was standing still, looking at me. He had a grin that I did not recognize. It was like a broken plate. His face contorted and I dared not repeat what I saw but what I did see made me clutch my cross until the metal embroilment cut into my skin. My blood ran cold as his face returned from the diabolical nature it had to what it was before. Here I saw something unbelievable. I saw evil. The black bile poured out of his orifices and his skin was pale and sickly. He then opened the door and disappeared into the maintenance tunnel. No one saw him but me; they were too busy with the disaster before us. Then I heard the radio of the officer that helped me go off again and my heart plummeted.

"What the hell?" He turned to me.

"Multiple casualties at JFK Airport, ten-thirty-two—"

"We got multiple gunmen sighted at Terminal Four. High-threat priority. Requesting all available officers!"

His face was cold and stricken with fear. The radio was going haywire with dozens of voices speaking at once. It was hard to hear what was being said.

"Ten-zero-zero! Officer down on East Thirty-fourth and Park Avenue South—"

"Suspect fleeing from scene."

"Ten-thirty-one! Car bombing at UN Headquarters, multiple dead requesting a bus! Shit! We got a gunman entering the lobby. Requesting assist—"

"Ten-thirty-three, emergency at Lincoln tunnel, ten-thirty-two. Reports of a gunman sighted, requesting assistance—"

"Multiple jumpers at One World Trade! Requesting a bus!"

"The Redeemers broke into the Manhattan Psychiatric Center! We have two casualties and dozens of missing patients!"

"I—mystery—changed—"

My voice was caught in my throat as the screams in the radio blared on. I had to cover my ears to not go mad. I closed my eyes and drifted.

* * *

 

What was happening? My body was still shaken by what had happened this morning. The entire city was in havoc, police everywhere. Yesterday had nothing on this morning. The Mayor had issued a state of emergency on the city and bolstered the police force, calling up all volunteer officers and off duty officers to assist. The city was on virtual lockdown. Now it was midnight and the city was still searching for some of the suspects of the UN bombing. The gunmen at JFK were killed but not before fifteen innocent people were killed. The derailment of Train Six had killed thirty-six and left another two hundred injured, including me. The icepack and bandage wrappings on my leg reminded me of that particular incident. Grand Central Station would be effectively shut down for who knows how long? I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. Dammit. What was happening? It had been six weeks since the mass shooting at the Tennis Center, a month since the suicides at Regis and only a day since the Plaza Hotel bombing. It had been years since the last terrorist attack and yet now all of these horrid atrocities were being committed on a weekly basis it seemed. Now we had mass shootings and bombing all going on at the same time. This had to be planned; there was no way of it not being the case.

I felt my coat sleeve being tugged. Turning around, I noticed it was one of the Emergency Room nurses.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Doctor Benson, do you have the reports on the mother you brought in this morning? A Miss Eva Kowalski?"

"Ah yes, here," I said, handing him the clipboard. "Make sure to make a copy for the police."

"Yes doctor," he said. "How are you feeling? It must have been scary back there."

I nodded and sighed. I was sore but luckily my injuries were just bruising.

"Yeah, it was," I said, "I didn't think something like that would happen, not to me and certainly not today."

"We're living in some dangerous times, huh?" He said.

"It'll pass," I said beyond him.

The nurse smiled, but it was not reassured.

"I hope it does," he said before turning and walking away towards the ER.

I exhaled, leaning on the wall and ran my fingers over each other. My mind drifted away from me as I walked down the hallway from the Emergency Room. I was on break now, and a few nurses passed me by on my way to the ICU. I had a faint excitement in my heart as I neared the hall to Morgan's room. Maybe she was awake and speaking nonsense and harassing the nurses for food. I chuckled at the absurd hope. Then my smiled slowly returned to a somber indifference as I kept my gaze to the floor a few paces away. I just hope she would wake soon. I had a lot on my mind and the sooner she was alert and kicking again, the less anxious I would be. I might very well turn gray from all this stress. Turning a corner, I arrived at the hallway. The pale green of the monitoring rooms on the right side of the hall painted the other side of the hall with luminance. It was just as it was a week ago when she first came out of surgery, except there was no Marcus around. There was no one around in fact. No movement could be seen from where I stood at the end of the dark hallway. It was quite creepy, in fact. Normally a shadow of a nurse walking back and forth would disrupt the rays of pale light casting itself onto the opposite wall. But now, there was nothing, no shadow whatsoever. The nurses were nowhere to be seen which upset me. There should be a nurse on duty at all times. I took out my cellphone and called the ICU helpdesk.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end asked.

"Miss Turner, this is Doctor Benson. I'm at the ICU recovery wing where high-critical patient NYPD Officer Morgan and others is being housed. There seemed to be no staff here monitoring her. Can you please send someone here?"

"There should be someone there," she rebutted. "Let me see. Ah, yes, Miss Tamika Wilson should be there right now."

"I don't seen her, hold on," I said, walking towards Morgan's room.

Nearing it, I saw a shadow glide over the light on the wall telling me someone was indeed there.

"I saw someone," I said. "That must be her. Sorry for the trouble."

"No problem, buh-bye."

"Bye."

I put my cellphone back into my pocket and continued walking. When I reached halfway down the hall and only about twenty feet from the entrance to Morgan's room, I heard a noise to my left, a soft almost inaudible sound emitting from the janitorial closet. I turned to it, a bit apprehensive being alone and all. I gripped the door handle and found it to be unlocked. Opening it quickly out of an adrenaline-fueled fear, my mouth was left agape and my brow furrowed in confusion. A woman was tied and gagged in the closet. I knelt down, untied the cloth and tore the gag from her mouth. She was gasping for breath, thanking me profusely in a jumble of words.

"Oh, thank you for sa—saving me," she gasped, "I've been here for like two hours."

"What happened? Who did this?"

"Hell if I knew. Some kind of creep."

"Did he do anything to you?" I asked, checking her over.

"He hit me in the head with something but besides that I think I'm okay," she said.

My blood ran cold.

Can you please untie me?"

"Ah right, sorry," I whispered, quickly getting to work on the zip ties.

"He might still be here," she said, afraid.

Untying the zip tie around her ankles and hands, She sat up.

"Thank you," she exhaled, rubbing her wrists.

As I helped her up to her feet, I realized something. If the nurse was inside the closet, then the shadow in Morgan's room was the same person that tied the nurse. I exhaled and steadied myself. I picked up a broom from the closet and slowly inched towards the entrance to Morgan's room. The nurse was right behind me, clinging to my back. Then I saw a shadow dart along the glass of the observation room. The lights of the hallway turned on and off, flickering as if in a power outage. Then a dark figure walked, almost floating out of the room and stopped in the middle of the hallway. He turned to us. His face was covered by his brimmed hat. He then tipped his hat upward to reveal his face. His cold eyes stared amused back at me. I recognized him.

"Go get help," I whispered to the nurse.

She ran down the hall behind me towards the ICU lobby.

"Why are you here? You were locked up," I questioned, tensed and alert.

"Did you read the news? His Lordship spirited me from the Lion's Den, sparing me from the Romans' sword."

"What the hell are you doing here at this hospital?" I question bitterly.

"Mister Benson, please do not be alarmed, I merely wish to see the woman that has caught my eye."

"Caught your eye? What are you talking about?" I asked, demanding. "What do you want from Morgan?"

"Her intervention prevented the beginning of transcendence one month ago that we had to accomplish the crucible at a later date. Fortunately for her, she was a witness to this newest crucible.”

"The Plaza Hotel?"

"Yes," he hissed.

"Damn you! You did this! She might die because of you!"

"She shall not pass to his Grace. She is between the two worlds, Mister Benson. She is a nonbeliever and yet closest to the Truth. Mister Benson, she is closest to Man."

"The hell are you saying?"

"Approachable and yet aloof and apathetic, lazy but eager, crass yet refined, a temptress for any man and yet, oh so deliciously innocent."

He licked his lips.

“Perhaps I shall take her for myself.”

What did you do to her in there?" I shouted. "Did you fucking touch her!?"

"Nothing harmful, I assure you," he smiled. "Nothing she would be against as a maiden. I simply marked her for the coming times."

Marked? What did he do? Did he fucking—

"Bastard! If you laid a hand on her, I'll kill you!"

Not even I recognized my tone. It was cold and animalistic like that man on the train.

"Ira! Wrath. It is the mortal sin of Man! Know it well, Mister Benson!" He shouted. "The sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken. They will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of the sky, with power and great glory. I tell you the truth, this generation will certainly not pass away until all these things have happened."

I stepped back. What the hell was he saying? Was he mad?

"What do you people want?"

"You shall soon seen, fellow son of Adam," he said. "Through her will all things come together for she is the Advocate. She shall oppose the Darkness, our folly. She shall awaken the Child of First Light."

"Advo—"

He then laughed, cackling in madness.

"Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed."

He then turned and ran in the opposite direction down the hall. I ran after him but he was too fast. He turned a corner and two second later so did I; When I turned the corner, he was gone as if he had vanished in thin air. The stairway was down the hall and no doors were for a good twenty feet. I did not hear him enter a room so where could he have gone? I growled and kicked the ground in frustration. Damn that man! Damn him to hell! I exhaled violently and remembered why I was here. I turned around and ran to Morgan's room. As I turned the corner back to the hall, I saw the nurse and two security guards running to me.

"He ran that way!" I said, pointing behind me, "I lost him though."

The guards nodded and ran in that direction.

"What do we do?" The nurse asked.

"Go check on the other patients here," I ordered, "I'll check this room."

"Right!" She said, entering one of the other rooms.

I rushed into Morgan's room. Once I entered it, the crazy atmosphere outside vaporized and all that was left was the beeping of monitors and medical machines that surrounded Morgan's bed. It was serene and quiet. I walked over to her and checked her over. Her vitals were the first thing I noticed. Her blood pressure, heart rate, oxygenation levels, it was all normal. I knew for certain she was still critical. There was no way she would have recovered so quickly. It would be inhuman, a miracle. Her Licox monitor read she was receiving the normal amount of oxygen to the brain. With her injuries she would still be struggling with her blood count and respiration. But here, now she was practically normal. I shook my head. This was off. She was breathing on her own, too. Her chest was rising and falling on its own and her need for the intensive-care ventilator was not there. Looming over her, I sighed. She looked so peaceful and fragile. Stray thoughts entered my mind but I shook them away as I checked her EEG monitor. I furrowed my brow. Her brain waves were completely fine—no more than that.

"She's asleep?" I said, aloud.

She was in a coma but her brain activity was that of a person in REM sleep.

"Morgan? Can you hear me?" I asked, loud enough that anyone would have waken.

Nothing. She did not respond. I shook her arm gently, touching her shoulder and forehead to wake her. She did not. She did not respond at all. It was as if she was unable to awake, not a coma but from sleeping. I looked at her face. The ventilation mask over her made her seemed all the more broken I carefully and slowly removed the mask and moved a strand of hair from her face. With everything seemingly in place. I placed the mask back on in case she stopped breathing. I placed my hand on her bandaged one.

"What did he do to you?" I asked, more so to myself.

I was stopped in the middle of thoughts when I felt Morgan's bandaged mitten hand gripping my hand. I looked down. She was squeezing it hard. Crying out in pain, I took a step back. Everything was slowed down. I felt her grip my forearm and lift me off the ground. I heard the clock above the door tick, little by little, the dripping of the IV, the sliding of sweat down my brow. What was hap—Ah!

"Agh, yak!" I coughed.

S—She pushed me to the floor. Hitting the hard floor, I was stunned. I gripped my shoulder and looked up. Morgan's body was contorting and seizing up. Her back arced upward and she was squirming like she was on fire. She was crying out in muffled groans. What in the hell was happening? She was still in a coma; she was not supposed to move. It made me sick to my stomach that it made me nearly vomit. My heart dropped. She was yanking her IV drip from her arm. I ran to her, pressing my body onto her to prevent her from hurting herself. Tears poured from her cheeks as I restrained her. She was having a seizure. I furrowed my eyebrows and stepped back. She then stopped, falling back onto the bed, sweat and tears pouring down her face. Her unbandaged right eye opened for a second and what I saw shook me to the core. Her iris, the colored part of the eye was red, bright crimson. Then as soon as it happened, it stopped. Her eye faded back to dull gray and closed again and her body stopped seizing. Her face returned to the same blank and peaceful expression it had before. I fell to my knees before rising back up. I checked her pulse, breath, all of her vitals. There normal again. If that was the case then what the hell happened? Why was her eye red?

"What the hell?"

I turned and headed to the door. Looking one last time, I noticed something on her forehead, something red form on her skin. I blinked and looked closer, my heart pounding still. There was nothing. I must have mistaken something with my frayed nerves.

"Please wake up soon, Morgan."

Exiting the room, I was met by the nurse as she entered to check on Morgan.

"She had a seizure just now. Administer her a single dosage of Carbamazepine for now."

"Yes Doctor," she said, entering the room.

Turning back and walking down the hall to the main lobby of the ICU, I noticed three figures walking up to me. One of them had a familiar face as he greeted me in his uniform blue.

"Marcus," I acknowledged.

"Ian, what happened?" I got a call and got here as soon as I could."

"I don't know," I said. "But I think things are changing."

"What do you mean?" He asked. "What did Adamson say to you?"

"He's interested in Morgan for whatever reason," I said, bitterly, "I think he's planning something."

Marcus growled and kicked the ground.

"That fucking bastard! I'll kill him if he touches her."

"You best get some security on Morgan. This might end up like what happened with Miss Johnson if we don’t."

Marcus looked troubled and it was understandably so.

“I won’t let that happen,” he said.

“I know,” I nodded.

"Ulrich, can you go help the nurse?" He asked.

"On it," the blond officer beside Marcus said, excusing himself. "Come on Azeem."

The two officers departed, leaving Marcus and me to ourselves.

"Is she okay?"

"She's… fine—more than that, actually. All her vitals are normal."

"Is she awake!" He asked, excitably.

I paused for a second, thinking of what happened just moments ago. I shook my head.

"No, she hasn't. I'm sorry."

"Dammit!" He groaned.

"Hey, relax. She's fine. Her vitals are fine so it's only a matter of time, okay?"

He sighed, and nodded.

"I should go help Azeem and Ulrich."

"Okay."

"I'll find that son of a bitch," Marcus growled.

We grasped each other's hand and bumped chests.

"Let's do our best," I said.

"There's always work to be done."

He then turned and headed inside Morgan's room to join the two other officers as security entered the hall from the corner where Father Adamson had fled. He was nowhere to be found and neither were any of his members that were arrested a month ago. Even though I had no connection with the cult or the case around it, I felt unsafe, especially after my exchange with the cult’s leader. I exhaled and turned, heading down the hallway and back to my post. My break had ended a half hour ago. But I still felt off. That damn priest's words got to me.

_ I simply marked her for the coming times. _

Coming times? What was he planning exactly? What on Earth was coming? He had a plan I was sure of it. So was tonight the night the cogwheel turns for his diabolical schemes? I growled lowly as I turned to Morgan’s unconscious form.

"What the hell was happening?"

  
  



	12. Sounding of Trumpets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month has passed since a terrorist attack left Morgan in a coma. Around the world, much has happened in that time. New York is devolving into chaos as protests mount from the "quarantine" of Long Island with Ian caught in the madness.

Everyone has potential for greatness. I heard that a lot back in those days. I wish I had not for that was what my old grad professor would often say before assigning his infamous research papers. Having to type out fifty-page papers in a weekend on the importance of handwashing, it was his ‘excuse’. Could he not come up with a better reason for the tortuous work we endured that semester? Despite what I had against me, I did manage to survive that class. But unlike my friends that went to college on the East Coast, Professor Clark's class was the least of my worries back then. For there was something America was experiencing back then that now was resurfacing, something unbearable, infectious as the most virulent disease.

Los Angeles was a mistake, a big one. Hell, Las Vegas was a bigger one, but at least the casinos pitched in to ship water to the city. Los Angeles was not so communal. If you wanted to see anarchy in action, LA was it. Every man was for himself. Having it rely on outside water sources or that big dam that not only gave water but electricity to the city was a fool’s gambit. Once the water ran out, so too did the electricity. Back then, the Angelenos were ill-prepared for what was to come. On its own native water, the city could barely sustain a fraction of the four million residents. Then that long and terrible year came.

The Southwest dried up like a prune. Rainfall levels had dipped for a record time to that of drought-levels for a quarter of the continental United States. Forest fires stretched from Boise to the Grand Canyon to the Black Hills of the Dakotas burning an area of the American West the size of California, destroying tens of thousands of homes and over ninety-five thousand deaths relating to it. It was the deadliest natural disaster in recent memory. All those that could move, either up north or east did so. By the third month, only about a third of the population of the American Southwest remained. For those of us that lived in the Midwest, many of them headed toward the lakeshore, caught up in the frenzy of hysteria. FEMA was a hastily assembled mess. Tens of millions of people were displaced by the flood of forest fires and droughts. Hundreds of tent cities were set up all across rural Iowa, Kansas, Illinois, and Missouri. Homelessness became a big problem. With so many displaced, it was no surprise when the crime rate ripped through the roof. We were the ‘homesteaders’. We stayed put. I was one of those well-to-doers living in the western suburbs of the Windy city. I guess I still am, being a doctor living in Manhattan. At the time, I was in high school finishing my senior year. College was coming up so there was no possibility of leaving. This ‘Great Thirst’, as cool as it sounded was a very terrible time. It made the US sink back into another great recession that thank God ended when I graduated. But that disaster was ten years ago and still the country had yet to recover fully from that time. The Midwest was still an overcrowded mess with former FEMA camps becoming new towns. Still, life was returning to normal as the process of rebuilding continued. But now we were seeing a newer drought. However, this would not be of water.

The Middle East was on fire. With the previous president drawing out a quasi-isolationist approach to his foreign policy, the wildfire of war engulf the entire region. Saudi Arabia was a failed state now. The Saudi Family had gone the way of the Romanovs. The Najd rebellion that began over a year had now spread into neighboring Iraq and Syria with North Africa beginning to collapse into revolution. Syria had fallen and Iraq was split. And as the price and demand for water soared and the supply dwindled ten years ago, so did gas and oil now. For if people thirsted for water, then for everything else it was oil. This new problem would not be confined to the American West.

Whatever they called it, petrol, slick, texas tea, oil and its derivatives were the lifeblood of which we all were able to live such carefree, luxurious lives whether we knew it or not. At least, that was the case here. When I was a kid, people complained that it was too expensive. Boy were they wrong. And while the United States could alleviate the reduction of oil in the Arabian Peninsula, to a degree, prospectors and investors panicked too quickly. Everyone feared what would happen and so the economy crashed as fear became the greatest weapon the false caliphate desired. But I, like many other, simply complained in passing and went on my way. And unfortunately, this great neglect of ours did nothing to stop it now. Now everyone was crazy. Europe was in the middle of a new resurgence of ultranationalism. Millions fled the middle east, Asia was faltering from this new disease. It was disconcerting notion as everything seemed to spiral into chaos itself.

I sighed. Poured myself a cup of coffee, the smell of bitter brew wafted up to my nostrils. Hopefully, it would all resolve itself. I turned to the beam of light peeking through the curtains to my left. I got a good rest today so I was refreshed. Walking back to the living room from the kitchen, I looked out my window. It was around three o’clock. The sky was still blue but a tinge of orange was on the horizon. Sirens blazed on and the sounds of crowds marching down Fifth Avenue told me the tranquil air was a facade. I turned back. Taking a sip, I grabbed the remote and increased the volume of the television. I frowned. The whole world was going mad. The sensationalism that was spewed by the correspondent‘s mouth was pitiful. I could see the fear in her eyes as explosions ripped behind her.

_“Well Donald, as you can see, Jerusalem is in turmoil as the government does battle with a multi-ethnic uprising after the mass rape and murder of an Ethiopian Jewish hamlet by IDF soldiers in Ashdod.”_

I changed the channel, flipping through the brightly lit news channels and sat down.

_—Elements of the 1st Marine Division along with Carrier Strike Group Twelve and elements of the US Fifth Fleet are currently being deployed to assist Israel in quelling this revolt despite the United Nation’s universal condemnation of the Israeli government’s killing of its own civilians—_

_—He kills their kids; he kills their wives. He kills their parents and their parents' friends. He burns down the houses they live in and the stores they work in, he kills people that owe them money. And like that he was gone—_

_“As you can see here, Shannon, this  wildfire is nothing we have ever seen! From up here, you can see the sheer destruction that it has inflicted on the residents.”_

_“What is the Governor doing to correct this problem, Jack.”_

_“Well, he has ordered a state of emergency as the fires streak through the forests. So far half of the state is engulfed in wildfires and seventy thousand people are confirmed dead. This is just here. The fires itself have covered an area from North California all this way to South Dakota.”_

_“It seems like we’re seeing what happened ten years ago.”_

_“Exactly.”_

_—As a result of the ongoing civil war in Saudi Arabia, the entire region has destabilized even further into anarchy as Syria, Iraq, Oman, Libya and now recently Israel have fallen into devastating rebellion—_

_—In the United States, the median price of gas on average is now a historic eight US dollars a gallon. Economic analysts warn of the implications that would have on the service industry as mass protests ignite across the nation—_

_—New York is in the midst of revived protests reminiscent of the March on Wall Street. Thousands take the streets in protest of the Mayor for the inaction to prevent the devastating bombings one month ago and for the desire medical situation on Long Island—_

_—I’ll be back—_

_—As gas prices rise so does the anger as the people feel the rebellion in Saudi Arabia in their wallets and at the gas pump—_

_—Game over man, game over—_

_—Racial tensions boil over last night with widespread riots taking place in Lower Bronx in the shadow of severe societal concerns in regard to—_

_—With the bombings of New York a month ago and now Boston on Monday with the targeting of subways in the historic city, more and more people are opting out of public transportation, hurting the already fragile industry—_

_—Protesters have called for the prosecution of the police officer involved—_

I turned off the television. Running my hand through my hair, I sighed. Everything was going crazy. The world was now at the crest of a new wave of violence it seemed. Never in my life has these many things gone wrong. To think that it was only two month and a half ago that life was normal, at least around here. Work was the same as it always was, busy but manageable. I would go drink with the boys on Saturdays and check up on the family from time to time. Life was busy but it was not stressful, save for work. The only thing that I had to worry about was staying in shape and trying to forget—I smiled to myself. To think that it has been a month since she was hospitalized. I would have to buy her a nice smoked ham when she wakes up… if. Apparently it was one of her favorites. Taking a sip of my coffee, I checked my phone. I got a text from Marcus.

“Protests at Mount Sinai, watch out.”

I furrowed my brow. I made an audible huff as I read it.

“Why?” I texted back.

After a few seconds, a second text popped up.

“Anti-vaxxers are there.”

“The Long Island situation, right?”

“Yup.”

I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose.

How could these people listen to that idiot Mendez or his manservant Jones? They were making this mass psychosis— whatever outbreak worst with their paranoia of government false flags and new world orders. We already had six thousand cases in Long Island, up from six hundred a week ago, even with FEMA setting up treatment centers and restricted travel protocols last week. They were already getting in trouble for destroying a shipment of measles vaccines the other day. That really pissed me off. The fools. If people were bringing it—whatever it was that was causing these crazed bouts of violence to Manhattan and around the world, the situation could be disastrous. The city was still recovering from the bombings barely a month ago and now we were dealing with yet another crisis, the “Long Island Situation” as they called it. One after the other, disaster washed over the city giving it little reprieve. This did not even cover the rising support for the Redeemers, these anti-government folk deemed as terrorists and probably the perpetrators of the bombings last month. But public opinion was shifting. With what the government was doing with restricting travel in Long Island, the shooting of that poor boy in the Bronx and the States of Emergency that dotted the East Coast like chicken pox, these terrorists were becoming more like patriots in the eyes of everyday people while the government was looking more and more like a totalitarian regime. This was bad. Looking up from my phone, I noticed the news had switched to something related to my thoughts. Turning up the volume, I exhaled and sank into my seat.

_—More and more cases of mass psychosis continue to show up around the world with mass murder-suicides in Munich, Kiev and now Milan with the global death count in the tens of thousands—_

_—Don’t touch that dial just yet, we’re just getting started. Call in the next ten minutes and get an exclusive ten percent discount—_

_—Protesters in Long Island and Manhattan continue to demand that the Government lift the restricted travel enactment on citizens of Long Island as a result of the thousands of cases of mass-psychosis thought to be linked to the emergent virus H-three N-two that has appeared in Long Island around the same time—_

I sighed, exasperated. I gathered my things and walked out of my apartment, a bagel in tow. Since gas was so expensive now, I went for the train, leaving my car in storage. The streets were clear and for the most part fairly lively. Sure there was a slight tenseness to the air but it was almost unnoticeable unless I focused on it. The subway stop had the same tenseness, albeit a bit thicker with armed police walking about. Waiting for the train was almost as bad as the train itself. I had some anxiety when I boarded the train, a feeling of waiting for another bomb, another encounter with that sick man again. But it never came and I exited the train about twenty minutes later down the street from the hospital. I was relieved. The trip to work was fairly uneventful, save for the crazed doomsday sign wavers on the subway platform. Most people tried to avoid them on their way. They were few and forgettable. Ascending the stairs to the surface, I heard the unmistakable sound of a rather “enthusiastic” man shouting into a megaphone.

“Tell us the truth! We want the truth!”

“Bring back our kids! Down with the kidnappers!”

“Huh?” I gaped.

Then I remembered; Mount Sinai was dealing with protests. I totally forgot about what Marcus had texted me earlier. I mentally rolled my eyes and continued down the sidewalk towards the hospital. The streets were crowded with people and traffic was slow. They were blocking the street. People with cameras and phones were taking in the scene. As I saw the main entrance to the hospital, I was met with dozens of protesters chanting slogans for various reasons while police kept them from entering the hospital. Of all places to protest, why the hospital? Surely city hall or the police stations were more appropriate to protest. As I crossed the street, some noticed me and ran to me, their faces maddened with anger.

I ran as fast as I could trying to catch the attention of the police. One officer standing on a raised platform noticed me and motioned for two officers to escort me.

“Doctor, this way!” The taller officer shouted, pushing a protester away.

“Roast the pigs! Roast the pigs!” The protesters chanted in unison.

The other covered me with his shield and dragged me through the crowd. They were beating their fists on the shield and a few stray punches landed on my back and head. The crowd continued to shout loudly. Reaching the safety of the police line, I tumbled onto the floor with a familiar man offering his hand.

“Marcus,” I gasped, rubbing my head. “This place has gone crazy.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t get you myself,” Marcus smiled, apologetically. “We’ve got our hands full here.”

“I can see. What’s happening? There wasn’t anything like this yesterday? I didn’t hear about this in the news either.”

“The briefing I got was to keep these people out. That’s it.”

Dusting myself off, I notice a man climbing a parked car. It was that Mister Jones from that conspiracy radio show. Flashes of camera phones went off as if he was a red carpet star.

“I am Patrick Jones from Data Wars and I’m here with the good people of New York City demanding to know what the government is doing with our kids!” He shouted. “We’re here in support of the families whose children were kidnapped by the government for unknown, illicit purposes.”

The police remained still and unwavering.

“The Feds took our kids," the crowd chanted repeatedly. “Let them go, let them go!”

He looked down to the line of police officers and growled before looking back up and speaking into the megaphone.

“What’s he talking about?” I asked.

“Not sure.”

“The hospital has six hours to release the twenty-one children in captivity. This is a violation of their fourth amendment rights.”

Six hours or what?

“Why was this—forget it. I have to get to work. Stay safe, Marcus,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

He nodded.

Turning from him, I entered the hospital’s main foyer as the protesters continued to drone. I nodded at the desk ladies who gave me a less energized nod. Departing down one of the side halls, I headed to the Emergency Room to start my shift. This was going to be a drag.

* * *

The emergency room was not as busy as it usually was. Maybe people were afraid of going where large groups gathered. It would make sense with what was happening. I guess we were seeing a similar panic with the subways and hospitals with the outbreak in Long Island. But this frustrated me. If they needed help they should come. To let the fear take over any logical sense would be a disservice to themselves and their dependents. I barely met any patients in the first half of my shift. The nurses took most of the cases and they could take their time since there were few patients coming in. As a result, I remained in my office just down the hall from the ER filing reports on the patients that came my way. Putting a folder into a stack that I had designated as the read pile, I picked up another file from the to-be-read pile, I sank into my chair, taking a swig of a water from my bottle. I only had to deal with two patients today, a boy with a severe burn from attempting to boil water himself and a girl with a strange rash of some kind on her neck and arms. She had become quite irritable when we attempted to have her on a general antibiotic. I washed my hands of that particular case when she tried to bite me. I let the dermatology department deal with it. But the aggression, the anger in her eyes it was uncalled for, especially for someone as small and young as her. I had some theories but it was not worth entertaining beyond a quick joking remark. She was moved to isolation by the Federal agent assigned to the hospital against my wishes but I could do nothing. But I would not mind that issue now. I had more pressing matters to attend to anyway.

Looking up, I checked the clock. It was eight o-seven. A little over an hour from now and time would run out on that demand the protesters had issued. What were they planning? I furrowed my brow. Security at hospitals was a joke. That encounter with Father Adamson last month revealed to me how serious our lack of security was if a convicted leader of a murderous cult could just stroll into the ICU. I shook that thought away. I opened the folder in my hand. The case file was of Darren Quincy, the boy with the fever I was treating prior to the Plaza Hotel bombing. He had been in the ICU for the last month, longer than I or any of this doctors had anticipated. While I was taken off the case for a more qualified pediatrician, I was still in the loop at least for the first week or so. He had run a high fever longer than was safe. No matter what the doctors did, they could not seem to lower the fever. He was treated for bacterial infections and dehydration but the test results came up negative on every test, from a list of over thirty different pathogens. This was disconcerting. I did not like not knowing. It made me feel helpless and that feeling was what I most despised. He was only a child. I sighed. That chamber he wandered and fell into made me wonder. What was it used for? He said that it was filled with a black fluid. I shook my head. This child was going to be fine. Closing the folder, I finished the rest of my water and walked out of my office to stretch my legs. Walking to the bathroom, I got a call from Doctor Singh.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Ian are you available right now?”

“Yes, I am,” I replied. “Is there something you need?”

“I do, meet me at the ICU lobby right now," he said, his voice tense and frantic.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just get here. I’ll explain when you arrive.”

“Ah, okay. I’ll be there in a bit,” I nodded.

The phone call ended abruptly and I was left confused. What was so urgent that he needed my help? This perked my ears. Anything now was a blessing from doing nothing at the ER. Wait—the ICU? I felt my blood run cold. Clenching my teeth, I ran down the hall to the elevator. My blood was pumping and my heart beating rapidly as I felt my body tense. Was it—Exiting the elevator, I ran, zipping past a nurse and orderly. Sliding into the ICU lobby, I saw Doctor Singh standing by one of the lobby desks.

“What’s the problem, Vinay?” I asked.

“Ah-hmm, It’s Darren Quincy,” he explained, clearing his throat. “I need your help. He’s acting up since the crowd of protesters gathered outside.”

“Couldn’t you get a nurse?”

“There was no one available here and you were available so there you go.”

I felt the urgency in his voice and I nodded following him down the hall. I followed closely behind as Doctor Singh led me to the Isolation wing of the hospital. Entering the lobby, I put on my mask and gloves as did he. Stopping at the Isolation Wing lobby, he turned to me.

“Okay, before we do this, I must warn you it is quite… disconcerting," he sighed.

“Disconcerting? Why? What’s wrong with the Quincy boy?”

Unable to find his voice, he grabbed my arm, dragging me through the crowds of nurses and doctors walking to and from the halls around the lobby. He led me to the room at the end of the brightly lit hall. Entering the room, he handed me a face shield. Putting them on, we stopped at the foot of the hospital bed. My voice was caught in my throat at the sight.

The boy’s face was—he looked so wrong. His skull was malformed to that it reminded me of a walnut in shape. Large ridges of bone formed from the formerly smooth skull and thick black veins could be seen beneath his now pale skin. He was African American. His skin should not have been so unnatural. It was more an ashy sand rather than its original earthy hue. The whites of his eyes were completely black, his irises bloodshot and wide and a black fluid continued to ooze from his lips and nose, collecting into a bag beneath his bed. My heart dropped at the sight. He was tied down by leather straps and was motionless. He then coughed another batch of the sick black fluid. This was the same fluid like that man on the subway, I believed.

“What’s wrong with the boy?” I asked. “What is this fluid?”

I turned to Doctor Singh and pointed to the large bag beneath the bed.

“Not sure, we sent some for analysis when it first appeared a few days ago. It appears to be a mixture of blood, bile and—” He stopped himself.

He sighed and turned to me.

“Something else," he finished, breathless.

“Something else? What is it?”

“Not sure, it doesn’t appear to be any product of his organs or lymphs. It’s what’s making the fluid so black.”

“So what exactly is wrong with him?” I asked.

“Besides his fever, the deformations, and this fluid discharge, he’s—”

Suddenly, the boy began thrashing in his constraints. His respirator fell off and he began vomiting the black bile all over himself, sizzling on his flesh. This fluid was corrosive? The beeping of his monitors went haywire. I took a step back as the boy spat a lump of something at me.

“Ian, help me!” Doctor Singh pleaded, rushing to the boy to restrain the boy.

I ran to the other side, pushing his arms down and preventing him from tearing at his restraints. As I did, Singh covered the boy’s face with the mask as he was about to spit again.

“Nurse! I need a sedative ASAP!” He shouted.

Several nurses rushed in to assist us. One nurse attempted to hold his legs down but was kicked across the room; the force slammed her into the wall. She was out cold. When the head nurse came in with a syringe, I felt relieved. Then I felt the boy’s hand grip my collar. He pulled me dangerously close to his mouth.

“Within Man shall he fall,” he uttered.

A feeling beyond fear came about me. His voice, it was—he suddenly punched me in the gut sending me back.  I tripped and fell back onto the floor. My face was pale and I was at a loss for words.

“Administering sedative now," Singh said, pushing the needle into the boy’s arm.

After a few seconds, the boy’s groans ended as he fell back onto the bed, limp and unconscious.

Catching my breath, I turned to Singh.

“This is what’s wrong with him,” he said, clearing his throat. “I believe he’s suffering from the same illness that is affecting those on Long Island.”

“Are you sure? Have you tested him with those cases?”

“Yes, that’s why they send some of their infected here.”

I furrowed my brow.

“What?! They sent their infected here?” I shouted. “Why was I not informed of this transfer?”

He sighed and pulled me out of the room while the nurses took control. He led me to a less trafficked side hall.

“What is happening Vinay? What did I just see?”

“Apparently the Feds are quarantining a bunch of these sick children, twenty-one of them here without the parent's permission and it's causing an uproar," he explained, his voice low and tense. “And what just happened… it was another outburst.”

“Outburst?” I gasped, offended. “That was no outburst. He was attacking us.”

“I can’t say you're wrong. But that is why they brought them here. They can’t test these patients on Long Island. Imagine what just happened but in thousands of cases.”

I froze and my eyes widened. This was why they were protesting the hospital.

He furrowed his brow as he noticed my shock.

“Didn’t you know?” He asked.

“No, I had no idea that they sent sick children here,” I replied. “The only patient that might be related to this outbreak is that Quincy boy from Brooklyn we received for a fever.”

I pointed to the room we had just left. “But he’s been in isolation since then. How could he have contracted that illness?”

“He might be the initial infected and not that airport security officer.”

“But I thought they weren’t going to bring anyone from Long Island here. Isn’t the whole damn island quarantine?”

“Restricted travel, not quarantined… yet," Singh sighed.

“What the hell is happening here? If those protesters get in—”

“They will not.”

“ _If_ they do then we could have an infection here in Manhattan. Think about it.”

“I have. It will not happen, I assure you.”

“I don’t know,” I said softly. “Sounds like a stupid idea. To stop the infection from spreading, they decide to bring the sick here?”

He nodded in agreement.

“It is but we have direct orders from the Surgeon General’s office and the CDC to monitor these children.”

I sighed and looked down.

“So what is—why exactly did the Quincy boy lash out on us? I know he’s most likely delirious from that high fever but to spit that corrosive bile at us? It was almost as if he was trying to infect us.”

“Enough with that nonsense, Ian,” he scolded. “We got him sedated so he should be no threat now. Now go on. There is nothing for you here.”

I nodded and turned to head back to the ICU.

“Oh, Ian," he said, taking a pause. “Sorry for speaking sharply like that. I really truly appreciate the help back there and taking that punch for me.”

He laughed a hearty laugh and I joined in.

“Anytime,” I smiled, walking to the end of the hall. “See you later.”

Walking to the exit of the Isolation wing, I was met with a hallway with occupied rooms. I looked inside one as I passed. The nameplate read ‘Molly’. I looked inside. A girl around ten years old was sitting on the bed, bouncing while watching cartoons on the television. She was pale but smiling and seemed to be quite healthy. This bothered me. Why would they bring someone like her here? I was expecting someone on the same level of treatment as the Quincy boy but she was perfectly healthy from a superficial view. Her room neighbors were not so peaceful, I shrugged the thought off and turned heading to the ICU. A chat with Morgan would clear my head.

After a few minutes, I entered the ICU lobby. Turning and crossing it, I entered one of the side halls to Morgan’s new room. She was sharing her room with another victim of the bombing. Her injuries were much more severe, a broken leg and burns since Morgan’s wounds have healed despite the extent of her injuries. It was as if she was experiencing some sort of accelerated healing factor. No, it did not make any sense. That was simply impossible. There was nothing special about her. I frowned, in this way at least. Exhaling, I looked up from the floor to meet eyes with a blonde woman my age. She had short hair tied in a messy, low bun and was wearing a business blazer with matching pants. Her gaze was bored and disinterested, very much like Morgan’s. If I did not know, I would have thought they were sisters.

“Hello? May I help you?” I asked.

“You’s Doctor Benson?” She asked, her voice thickly accented.

“Ah yes, that’s me. Do you have business with me?”

“The name’s Murphy Marlowe. I’m a private investigator based in Brooklyn.”

“Hello,” I smiled. “So what business do you have, Miss Marlowe?”

“I’m visiting my dear friend, you know her.”

“Ah, you mean Morgan.”

“Yes, I’m investigating the attack that left her so injured,” the private eye said, her face unmoving in expression but her tone of voice concerned. “And of her … recovery.”

She was definitely a friend of Morgan’s. Her strange quirky standoffishness was a familiar breath of air. I looked at her hand. She had a ring on it. Although, unlike Morgan, this woman was married.

“Well, I’m not sure what you can find out. The police have already combed through the case and found nothing on Father Adamson or his whereabouts.”

“I don’t care about him. I care about who sent him.”

“Sent him?”

She sighed.

“If I told you what I know, you’d think I was crazy.”

“Try me,” I said, honestly. “Whatever you know it would be most helpful.”

Whatever it was that she was going to say could not be so bad that I would chide her.

She took a breath and stuffed her hand into her pockets.

“There are things in this world that are not meant to exist, Mister Benson, things of an artificial nature, neither natural or, if you believe in that sort, supernatural origin. I had to deal with something of that nature a few years back out in rural Pennsylvania. And now they’re happening here.”

I cocked my hips in disbelief.

“What are you, an occult detective?”

“You could say that,” she flatly nodded.

“Huh?” I gawked. “Okay, Miss Marlowe I don’t think there’s anything supernatural about what happened. A crazy man blew himself up. That’s all that happened.”

“Black bile, doctor.”

“Huh?”

“Bleeding it. Black acidic fluids eroding the body, pouring out of every orifice. Sound familiar?”

My body froze.

“I’m not entirely sure what you—”

“The homeless man on the train. That boy in the ISU. You know what I’m talking about.”

Her gaze was sharp. My voice was caught in my throat.

“How do you—”

“Things that are not meant to exist,” she said, stone-faced.

“Not meant to exist, what does that mean?”

She paused for a moment before speaking again.

“When Robert Oppenheimer was asked to comment on his role in the making of the Atomic bomb that killed over a hundred thousand Japanese civilians and brought about a means to destroy the world, he said, “I am become Death, destroyer of worlds”. That is what we are facing at this crucial moment, Doctor Benson. What is to be done to destroy the destroyer of worlds? Or rather, who?”

She exhaled and scratched her neck. Closing her eyes, she turned away to walk in the direction of the General Wing.

“We’ll be in touch, I’m sure.”

“Wait just a minute.”

Suddenly, the lights went out. She turned a corner and disappeared, leaving me in the dark. I stood there for a little while, uncertain of what to do. I scratched my chin and sighed, confused and shaken by her words. Walking back towards the Emergency Room, the silence of the darkness shattered as I heard a few screams in surprise in the other rooms. The entirety of the hospital was dark.

“What the hell?” I snapped.

The lights flickered on and off in random intervals. I noticed some of the rooms around had lights on. The backup generators went live and the most crucial wings returned to have power. We would have to wait until the maintenance team got to work on the issue. However, my peace of mind as the annoyance turned bitter when the distinct sound of gunshots outside and down the hall rang. I backpedaled towards Morgan’s room. Screams in the distance became clearer as I went to the threshold of the door.

“What’s happening?” A patient asked across the hall.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “Get inside and turn off the lights.”

She nodded and retreated into her room.

Seeing flashlights in the dark hallway at the other end a good hundred feet, I realized by their step that they were not security officers. Slamming the door to Morgan’s room open, I rushed in. I shut the door and closed the blinds just as the figures ran past us towards the direction of the Isolation wing. I looked at my phone.

It was nine-thirty. The six-hour timeline had come. The protesters broke in, didn’t they? If that’s the case, is Marcus and Singh safe?

“They’re here for the kids,” I noted, to myself.

“Kids? What kids?” The other patient asked from behind her curtain.

“The CDC apparently sent sick children here for treatment against their parents’ wishes.”

“If these kids get out, won’t they infect other people?” She asked.

“That’s why I can’t let these people take them.”

I turned to her.

“I need you to hide, can you do that?”

She nodded, struggling to get out of bed and going into the closet.

“Wait here until you hear police, okay? Don’t open this door for anyone.”

I pulled Morgan’s blanket over her head, hiding her as best as I could. Her face was pained and tense. It was as if she was reacting to outside stimuli. Great, if she went into another seizure, I could do nothing in these conditions. Sighing, I crept out of the room, finding no one in the halls.

“I have to get to the Isolation wing,” I said.

Closing the door, I began a quiet run to the Isolation wing. Papers and equipment were strewn across the floor as if a tornado ripped through. I gulped and kept forward. Entering the dark hall to the Isolation wing, I noticed movement and shouting. They were inside. I had to stop them somehow. They were going to release the patients. I entered a closet as people came out of the wing. Children were crying and talking as they were led toward my direction. I crossed myself and begged that I would not be shot. From their steps, there must have been thirty of them. As the first people walked past me, I sprang out and smash the first one I saw with a broom. It sent her to the floor causing her to drop her weapon, a knife. I froze when I saw it as another protester smashed something to the back of my head, sending me to the ground with a thud. I could not move. Seeing stars, I turned to the man just as he kicked my face. I rolled out of the way as he kicked again; he landed his thrust in my gut. My nose was bleeding. Falling back onto the floor, I gasped for breath as he led the rest of the intruders with the children in hand down the hall to the stairway down to the emergency ward. Coughing, I got back up, struggling to do so. Limping to where they were going, I grabbed the broom to balance myself. I hobbled towards the stairs. Slowly descending, I heard gunshots again. I froze. Were they actually killing people? Gulping, I gritted my teeth. I had no choice. I needed to stop them or else more people would get hurt. Sprinting down the dark hall to the emergency room, I saw more flashes. People were fighting the intruders. Inside the ER, there must have been fifty people engaged in a savage melee. Kicking the door in, I tackled the first protester I saw. We tumbled to the ground and the child in his hand fell to the floor crying. I began punching wildly. The gun fell from his hand. His friends grabbed and punched at me. They threw me back. Looking around, I saw several nurses on the floor, bleeding but alive. Cops were being overpowered by the superior numbers of the masked protesters.

Anger surged in me as I clocked one of the protesters in the face. The sound of police sirens were coming close. Perfect they were almost h—I felt a punch land in my side sending me sprawling on the ground.

“We need to go! The others can’t hold the police out front for long,” one protester said frantically.

A dozen more protesters ran into the room from the back parking lot. I stood back up and kicked another protester. Still, I saw with horror as one by one the children were led out of the hospital and into the horde of protesters outside.

“No, he’s infected! Don’t you understand?”

Backhanding another protester to the ground, I felt someone body slammed me to the floor, sucking all air out of me.

“Just shoot him and let’s go. We need to get these kids out.”

“What about Darren Quincy? He’s still back there.”

“He’s too far gone. Besides, we have no time.”

The man with the gun I had tackled got up. I charged him again, knocking the gun out of his hand. Thank god I was in wrestling in high school or else I would have been in even more trouble. The gun slid around and landed behind us down the hall. We fell to the ground as the other protesters tried to pry me out. I spun wildly, punching and kicking like some distressed animal trying to keep them at bay. I felt a knee smash into my stomach. I vomited and fell to the floor. I was on my back. Opening my eyes, I saw a man looming over me with a pocket knife. Hate filled his eyes. I gasped and raised my hands. Onc of them had a knife and was trying to stab me. He is going to kill me. Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to keep the knife from me.

“Fucking die!” He growled, slowly drawing the blade nearer.

I kept my hands on his, pushing as he did. I closed my eyes to clear them of tears. When I opened them, I gasped. The world slowed down as I saw a fist connect with my attacker’s face. I suddenly saw nothing but an arm extending in the direction of the man as he was propelled back smashing into the brick wall across the lobby. A thunderous clap erupted. The wall was indented with brilliant crimson drenching the wall. Bricks fell and a horrendous crack was heard. He fell to the floor limp and broken as his friends staggered back.

I craned my head back. My eyes widened as I saw what was above me.

“Morgan?!”

Hot Steam was emitting from her fist from where she had hit him and her body was locked in a fighting pose. Her demeanor, her appearance almost seemed animalistic as she snarled. She was as a gorilla or a wolf would be in fighting stance. Her mouth was open, her teeth clenched revealing sharp incisors. The protesters shuddered and screamed as they quickly grabbed the children and ran out of the building. Morgan screamed, leaping like a bullet before body slamming the next protestor, sending her flying into the wall twenty feet away.

“What the fuck?!”

“Run!”

I coughed, leaning on my side. Morgan halted her next attack and looked back at me. Her expression was nothing I had ever seen. It was a primal rage but somehow in control. Then I noticed her right eye, the unbandaged one. It was a faintly reflective crimson in color. Red eyes? Her hair, it was snow white. What the hell? When I was in her room, her hair was normal. Now it was as if she was a ghost. I froze, my blood freezing over. Who was this? People were rising to their feet, exhausted and injured. I remained still.

“Morgan?”

She was shaking and held fast.

“You’s okay?” She asked, gruffly.

“Yeah, I—I’m okay. Thanks,” I said, breathless and unable to process my thoughts. “But, how are you here? You’re supposed to be in a coma.”

I got on and saw the man. His face was smashed in and his head hung at an awkward angle.

“Jesus Christ,” I said, turning to her. “You sent him back fifty feet?”

I turned back to her.

“Morgan, what… why are you here?”

The now white-haired woman turned to me, her expression still harsh and alien.

It was then that I noticed. Behind me, I heard the noise of scuffling. I turned. In the dark behind me, a small figure came to view. It was the Quincy boy. He was running on all fours. His hands were bloodied and his face oozing that black fluid. He ran past Morgan and me.

“Hey, Darren wait!” I cried out.

A police officer attempted to grab him but he was too fast.

He ignored everyone and ran, disappearing into the retreating crowd of protesters. I heard a crackle and white smoke of tear gas billowed upward. I failed. The sick children had escaped and were now roaming free in the city. The silhouettes of riot police came to view as the crowd and police continued to engage each other in a desperate clash for the children. I turned to Morgan. Her eyes were flat and dull.

“Morgan?”

She swayed and what I now noticed was a human arm. I saw the woman she had body slammed. She was dead, an arm torn off. Blessed Mary, what in God’s name was she? How did she? Turning to me, she smiled weakly.

“And so does the sounding of trumpets commence the coming days,” she said flatly, almost relieved.

She too fell onto the floor with a heavy thud, the torn arm tumbling away. The sirens and screams of people continue as I dragged myself to her.

“Hey! Morgan wake up!”

Reaching her, I sat up. Opening her eyes to see if they were responsive. I froze. Her red eye was now turning back to their original gray. What the hell? Her eye color was changing… back? Then I saw it. She was crying, a pained expression on her face as she began to seize up again. She bellowed in anguish. This was happening again just like when Father Adamson broke in. What was happening to her? She was writhing in my arms, groaning and screaming as she arched her back, kicking and flailing. I gulped, her hair was turning back to its raven color from the roots to the tips in a wave.

“I need help! She’s seizing up!”

I looked frantically around as she, this… inhuman woman squirmed in my arms.

“Someone? Help! I need help!”

The horns of trucks and police horns sounded in the night air like trumpets drowning out my cries for help.

  
****


	13. Back of the Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days since the attack on Mount Sinai Hospital and after a month in a coma, Morgan finally awakens. However, things become clear that she is not as fine as she seems.

 

_ Why was I being punished? Of all the times, why now? I didn’t deserve this shit. I passed my classes and try to stay out of too much trouble. I also didn’t go out… much, not that I would being a chain-smoking, snarky, flannel-wearing bumpkin. Partying was not an option and I always went home right away after school if I wasn’t pressed into volunteering for some shelter or working. So was it really so bad for me to skip that for a change? Why couldn’t I have a little fun, too? Was it so bad for me to fucking loosen up for once and do nothing? I couldn’t hang out with the few friends I had because of the house, studying my ass off or working on the neighbor’s crab boat. That was my life after Junior High. So what if I smoked or got into fights at school? They started it. And so what if I didn’t try hard with my classes? It didn’t matter. I knew what I wanted to do and it meant leaving bum-fuck-nowheresville for the big city. Was not caring for other people’s feelings hurting anyone besides the fucking assholes at school? Did God really give a damn that I would be neglecting my church duties for me to have a little time for myself and be a little selfish? Of course not. He wasn’t fucking real. And even if he was, why would he care about some neglected Sunday school sessions when rapists and murderers roamed the streets? God didn’t care and neither did I. I wanted to be a kid again. _

_ After the—changes, I had to grow up fast and work so excuse me if I wanted to recapture that free spirited time when family still fucking meant something. It was okay at first to help and make it easier for my dad; but when the years went on and I had less time to just be me, I felt like I was being squeezed to death. He was so overbearing. I guess that was why now I just stopped caring about anything really. My life was lethargic, wayward and uncooperative. It was starting to feel like the idea of not exerting myself and not caring at all was the greatest way for me to be content. I had no expectations about anything so I was never disappointed. I earned that peace. What I didn’t earn was this fucking tirade; it was his fault. _

_ “Don’tcha know how disappointed I am in ya? Do ya have any idea how much I spent raisin’ ya hoping ya’d come out alright?” He shouted. “Now look at’cha drunk and a thief.” _

_ He paced back and forth in front of me while I sat on the couch. I was swaying and intoxicated. _

_ “Don’tcha know how much trouble you’s in?” _

_ “Shaddup!” I snapped. “Stop yellin’. It ain’t no big deal!” _

_ “No, a big deal?!” He shouted back. “What would yer mother say if she saw ya now? Breakin’ into Mista Minosky’s store and stealin’ booze and cigarettes? What were ya thinkin’?” _

_ I didn’t respond and sighed. _

_ “Answer me!” _

_ “I wasn’t thinkin’. It was a mistake,” I shouted. “I was just havin’ a bit of fun!” _

_ “Fun? This was the first time ya did this?” _

_ I didn’t answer, turning away. _

_ “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to ya!” _

_ Anger rushed through me like hot steam in a kettle. I hated this so much. I felt like punching him in his fucking face as harsh as that sounded. _

_ “It was only once, okay?!” _

_ He looked skeptically at me and gave me a dirty look. He then coughed violently for a few seconds into a handkerchief and spat something into it. _

_ “I don’t believe ya," he gasped. “Not with that attitude.” _

_ “Fuck! Ya think I’d plan on actually fuckin’ stealin’ shit on the regular?” _

_ “I don’t even know," he huffed, recovering from his latest bout of coughing. “With what ya’ve been doing lately, how should I know? Smoking with those punks at school, coming home drunk, getting into fights at school, this is not how I raised ya, how she raised ya.” _

_ “Raised me? You’s never been there, always at work. I raised myself.” _

_ “You’s living in this house because of me,” he said. _

_ “Now you care,” I growled. “After mom died ya couldn’t care less about me. Some dad ya turned out to be. Stop fuckin’ feeling sorry for yerself.” _

_ He flinched, his face showed as if struck by a mortal wound. _

_ “Hah? The truth hurts, doesn’t it!?” _

_ “If I could I would have been home more but I didn’t want us livin’ on the streets!” He exclaimed. “How would ya be livin’ so privileged? How do ya expect to go to college if I didn’t work so hard?” _

_ “How the fuck am I privileged?” I snapped. _

_ “Everyone is responsible for their own choices. But you’s still my daughter. If you’s weren’t graduating this year I would’ve turned ya over to Mista Minosky and let him and the police deal with ya.” _

_ “Great, I’ll be fucking out of here.” _

_ “Until then ya have to live under my rules," he said. “And that means ya staying home during yer school’s trip to New York.” _

_ “What? No! I’ve been waitin’ four years to go! Ya can’t do this!” _

_ “I can and I will, you’s stayin’ and helpin’ Mister Minosky for all the damage ya did. You'slucky he didn’t press charges. I’ll have to spend a fortune keepin’ him at ease.” _

_ “I’m goin’!” _

_ “No, ya ain’t unless ya want me to call the police and tell them what ya did. County jail ought to sort ya out.” _

_ I gritted my teeth and flared with rage. My mouth went off before I could think. _

_ “I hate ya! I fucking hate ya! Go fucking die ye big oaf!” _

_ I hyperventilated and turned away and stomped to the stairway. Reaching the stairs and on the third step, I turned back for a second. He looked deeply hurt now, turning and walking over to the mantlepiece of the fireplace, slow and somber. He took the framed photo of mom in his hand. He looked down and sighed. _

_ “I wish ya were still here," he said. _

_ I huffed, still angry and ascending the steps. Who does he think he is? I sighed, wiping my face. Reaching my room’s door, I slamming the door to my room behind me and standing up, I turned to my bed. I screamed from what I saw next. There was a figure in the room, robed in black and wearing a brimmed hat covering its face. I immediately jolted back attempting to flee the room but when I turned around, the door rotted into mud and sand and the wallpaper tattered and dissolved like burnt paper and ink. Blood was pouring out of the cracks in the wall and after the entire transformation, everything went black. _

_ “What? What’s happenin’?” _

_ I opened my eyes and found myself in a church. I was standing on the nave of a church with the rows of pews on both sides of me. It was huge, the size of a stadium and the walls were black and uneven. It looked like an exact copy of the interior of the Saint Peter’s Basilica I saw on the internet. The pillars and arches of grand scale were there. The skylights with light rays shined down onto the Nave with me inside the light, sparing the darkness around. The only difference in the appearance I noted from the picture of the Basilica I saw on the internet was the fact that the floor was not polished stone but rather—flesh? It was twisted. I saw eyes looking at me, darting around while embedded into the flesh and bone. This couldn’t be real. It was fake, a dream. I felt queasy and tried to stand, supporting myself on one of the pews only to realize with horror that they too were made of flesh, humans fused together and prostrated on their hands and knees like vile benches. This was a nightmare; it had to be. I was just in my room, dad was screaming at me earlier and we had a fight and now I was in some kind of fucking hell church? I didn’t believe it. None of this was fucking real, none of it. This was a dream and I tried desperately to wake up, except I couldn’t. Looking forward, I saw the robed figure standing where the priests would be. Angel statues stood in a circle around where the table with the sacraments would be in Catholic tradition. But what I noticed was that they were pointing their stone swords and spears downward at something, almost desperately instead of raised proudly toward the sky like normal. I saw it moving between the angel statues, stroking its finger on the marble, causing it to corrode. My body moved on its own even though my mind desperately fought to run away. My feet squished on the flesh and low whispers and cries came up as I slid along the floor like some conveyer belt. Hands and arms made of blood erupted from the ground, groping and touching my legs trying to pull me down. Suddenly, I felt my body being lifted and thrown in the air, landing on the raised platform where the figure was standing at the chancel. Landing on the stiff bones of this nightmarish temple, I felt my body grow weak. My breath left me. I felt my body being lifted by the tentacle-like hands from the Nave behind me and onto my feet. Then I saw the figure standing in front of me a few feet away. It was between me and what appeared to be a massive hole surrounded by the angel statues. But this was not a sinkhole but more of a spiraling staircase that led down. To where it led, I dared not think of. _

_ “Welcome Advocate,” it said with a voice I did not recognize. “Welcome to the Sunken Temple.” _

_ It was a reverberating speech with two distinct voices, a man’s and a woman’s like what demons sounded like in the movies. But instead of a harshness to it, it was very calm, almost bored or sleepy. _

_ “Who—What’cha want?” I asked, terrified. _

_ It stopped moving and turned to face me. _

_ “We desire Mankind,” It said. _

_ It spoke with the Royal we. Seeing that I made no response, it began walking to me and I reciprocated by walking away, still focused on it. _

_ “Mankind? What’cha talkin’ about? Who are ya?!” _

_ It simply chuckled a cackling laugh with several voices laughing and crying in unison. _

_ “They are of us.” _

_ It extended its arms and a black fluid began to seep from its feet and onto the floor. The faces in the flesh floor cried out in agony as the black liquid snaked into their eyes and mouths, corroding them. _

_ “What is this place?” _

_ “The hearts of Man know us well,” It said. “They try to hide away from us. But how does one rid themselves of their shadows?” _

_ I felt my back reach the wall. Hands tore through the fleshy corruption, attempting to haul me away into the vile mass of woven human bodies that formed the walls. Tears flowed down my cheeks and I vomited onto the floor, so deathly afraid. The vomit was black, like ink. _

_ “You are marked,” It said, pointing a bony finger at me. _

_ Suddenly, I felt a burning pain in my body. The excruciating pain buckled my knees. My left eye was blazing in pain. I arched my back and shouted in anguish. I felt like burning away. _

_ “Ahh fuck! W—What’s happenin’ to me?” _

_ “You have been marked, Advocate. For it is the foolhardiness of Mankind that brings you this day. You shall see what is Man’s truth. You shall see the despair of His folly.” _

_ I looked up and saw its face. I threw up the same black bile again, gallons of it flooding out of me. I began to sink into the pool. But it was impossible. The puddle was less than an inch deep and yet it was dragging me in. Tears rained down my face and my body froze in place. It was me. But at the same time, it wasn’t. It had snow white hair and bright crimson eyes. _

_ “W—What are ya?!” I repeated. _

_ “Why does the Condemned pray for salvation that will not come?” It replied, avoiding my question. _

_ “What are—”  _

_ "Mankind has endured wars and sins as numerous as there are stars in the night sky. Do you think there was a devil that made men fall or a God that created all? There is no escape for your people, Advocate. Your hearts shall succumb to us and your bodies will sustain us. For we are of you.” _

_ “Advocate, guh yak! Why me? What it it?” _

_ It stopped walking and stood only a few paces away. _

_ “Now Mankind’s fate is his true path, Advocate. Are they worthy of being saved?” It asked. “Man no longer has its shadow behind but before him to shake his hands. It has now embraced itself." _

_ It smiled unnaturally wide. Its gums showed and its mouth extended from ear to ear, more teeth than was human were shown. The being smiled through its diabolical words as the black fluid poured from every orifice. It face began to rot and its voice deepened like a slowing recording. _

_ “In days to come, you will find no reprieve, for Man’s heart will bring about the abominations. It will be by Man’s own heart that the world will fall. And for you, you shall be the Advocate against us, thus saith your adversary, the sons of Adam. But shall you best they who be you?” _

_ I then felt the arms erupt out of the ground and grabbing onto me, latching onto my bare legs. I screamed as the bloody hands dragged me down into the fleshy floor which now had the consistency of mud. I vomited blood and black bile as I felt something surging through me. I felt as if worms were burrowing through my veins. The feeling was maddening and I scratched at my skin, clawing at my neck and arms to stop the unsatiated itchiness. _

_ “Until we have our final confrontation, Advocate, know this truth. When the lights faded, all that shall be left is nothing but death to be repaid.” _

_ I felt tendrils pierce my skin and slither into me, burying into my skin causing me to holler and cry in sheer despair. A thick branch-like tentacle snaked and thrust itself into my mouth halting and muffling my screams as the floor swallowed me. More hands, dozens of them grabbed me from the flesh around me. Faces appeared many of which I knew. They cried and growled at me. The light in my eyes began to fade as I slowly felt my body break. Tears poured from my eyes as a last scream ripped through the back of my head before tearing at my skull. The branding-like pain on my forehead sent me over the edge with the excruciating agony. It shocked me as I felt myself being crucified by flesh and blood. The flesh enclosed above me, sending me into darkness. For when the lights faded, all that was left was nothing but death to be repaid. I gasped for a final breath as the flesh drowned me in darkness. Only a few words escaped my lips as it all faded into nothingness. _

_ “Let me sleep, forever.” _

* * *

 

The first thing I felt was my heart beat. It was soft and gentle, reverberating through my chest. I was awake. Like how one first becomes aware that they are awake in the morning before their eyes open, I felt the flooding of nerve firings dash through me. I gasped, a breath flooding my lungs with life. It felt like what I thought the Frankenstein monster must have felt when it first got a shock of electricity. I felt a pulsing sensation throughout my body, like it was kick starting, a deep fire smoldering inside me. My fingers were the first things that became controllable and I moved them feeling a soft and yet firm base. Where was I? Was I in bed? No, wait, this wasn’t a bed I was feeling. My fingers were covered in a cloth of some kind, with gauze or bandages. Whatever it was, it kept my fingers together like mittens, restricting their movement. Was I in a hospital? The next thing I felt was something long in my mouth that stretched all the way down my throat. I couldn’t swallow or talk or do anything with my mouth. I couldn’t even close it since it was taped around.  It made me gag and panic. I flailed my arms wildly but they were strapped down. There were leather straps around my elbows, over my chest, and on my shins. Wiggling my body, I freed my arms and grabbed onto the strange tendril, yanking it out. The action caused me to cough violently and fight to breathe. It hurt so much.

I clutched my throat and desperately tried to breathe, gasping like a dying fish. Opening my eyes, I was blinded by hot, white light. I hissed at the burning light and flailed on whatever I was lying on. I felt as if I was being torched. Arching my back, I cried out. Kicking and shaking my arms, I collapsed onto the surface I laid on with the sounding of rapid beeps around me. I blinked and squinted as my eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness. Huh? Why was I only seeing out of my right eye? I touched my left; it was covered by bandages. Once my vision cleared, I realized just where I was. Sitting up, I cringed as my body jerked and stiffened from what I could only assume was a lack of use. I exhaled and realized that I had tubes in my nose that people with oxygen therapy would use. I didn’t remove them nor the tubes in my arms; I was too in shock. Looking around, I realized I was in a hospital room, a small and sterile one about half the size of my own bedroom. The whole place was white and spotless save for the seafoam-green walls and the legion of medical equipment that made a bow shape behind me. Then I looked at my hands and flinched. I felt light-headed and I swayed back and forth trying to stay upright. My hands and forearms were completely bandaged up to just above my elbows. I threw off my blanket and found myself in a hospital gown that stopped to my mid thighs. My shins and feet were also bandaged and propped up via a harness. I felt a great pain in my chest as if I was punched.

“Hah, what happened?”

Turning slowly, I saw it was morning. I was so confused and disorientated. Where the fuck was I? Why was I in a hospital and all fucked up? I needed to get away. After a brief struggle, I managed to untie the leather strips containing me. My hands gripped the IV pole next to the bed for support and placed one foot on the ground. I lost my balance and my foot gave way. I tumbled onto the ground.

“Ah fuck!”

“Oh my god! Doctor, please come quick! She’s awake!” I heard a voice behind me shout.

I looked over my shoulder, exhausted. A nurse in scrubs was standing in the door and shouting for someone. I gripped the IV pole and hobble to my feet like a newborn fawn. Suddenly, a brown-haired man in a lab coat came rushing in. He stopped at the entrance and looked at me in surprise; it was Ian.

“Morgan?”

Feeling a sense of teasing delight, I turned and smirked at him, bowlegged.

"Mein Führer, I can walk!"

“Thank God! You’re awake!” He cried out. “Nurse get a physical examination kit here and tell Doctor Tsunoda we’re going to need a CT-Scan later.”

“Yes doctor," the nurse said before exiting the room.

I turned back to Ian. He extended his arms and squeezed me tight against him. My cheek was squished against his solid chest and my hands gripped his shirt for dear life. My face was beet-red and my breathing was labored. I took a deep whiff of the masculine cologne and shivered. My eyes were unconsciously closed as I curled into him like a cat in a lap. Then I realized I was being squeezed too hard. My chest was pressed against his, preventing me from inhaling.

“Ah, hurts—c—can’t breathe,” I groaned.

He pulled back and cleared his throat.

“Sorry, I—um,” he stammered. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

He moved the IV pole out of the way and lifted me into his arms in a princess carry of all positions. I squeaked a girlish yelp as he did so. I looked at him, his face was turned away from me but I saw it was red. Did he get burnt trying to tan? I giggled imagining him spread eagle on the beach with an indifferent expression as he reddened like a tomato. I felt my face flushed and a beat in my chest from being overly self-conscious and imagining his naked, muscular chest. My hands gripped the hem of my gown to prevent my bare butt from being exposed. This didn’t help much since his hand was just a few inches from it. He laid me gently on the bed in the way I thought newlyweds would. I mentally slapped myself for thinking that at the moment. It was my mental state which was out of whack, I thought.

“What happened, Ian? What’s goin’ on? Why am I here?” I asked. “I feel so sore.”

“Whoa there, slow down, okay? You were in a coma, Morgan," he said, his smile fading.

“Hah? A coma? From what?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No,” I said. “The last thing I can remember was headin’ for lunch with Marcus and now I woke up here.”

“The injuries must have affected your memory," he said, more so to himself than me.

He turned to me. His face was in doctor-time mode.

“Morgan? Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“I guess not.”

“Okay, how old are you?”

“Twenty-six this December. Why?”

“Just go with it.”

“Okay,” I sighed.

“What street do you live on?”

I told him and he nodded.

“Okay, now what are your parents names?”

“Kenneth and Mary,” I said.

“What’s your badge number?”

“They’re all sevens.”

He nodded in affirmation.

“Alright, it seems you are okay, at least in basic long-term memory except with what happened just before the incident.”

“What incident?” I asked.

“There was a car bombing at the Plaza Hotel where you and Marcus were at pursuing the suspects.”

“What about Marcus?!” I interrupted.

“ He’s fine but you were hit directly and—”

He sighed and paused. He was gritting his teeth.

“Morgan, you nearly died.”

My eyes widened and I sank into the bed.

“How long was I out?”

“A month. It’s the first week of August.” 

I gasped, my eyes wide in disbelief. A month? Had I been out that long?

“Well shit, I’m behind on the rent,” I said in passing, uncertain how to deal with the news.

He chuckled, squeezing my hand. I looked at his large hand over my small ones. It was completely covering them. My fist fit perfectly in his palm. Then I looked up to meet his eyes which were looking down somewhere. His jaw was clenched.

“I’m glad you’re awake now. You’ve been making me and Marcus and the rest of the Precinct worried sick.”

“Am I okay? I have bandages on my arms and legs,” I pointed out. “And what about my eye? Am I blind?”

“No, you just had a cut there that needed to heal. You should be fine. Same with your burns and cuts on your arms. I don’t know how but they fully healed. There are no scars or even sign that they were there.”

He looked troubled.

“So I’m perfectly fine? You said it was a car bomb. How the hell am I completely okay?”

“I don’t know but it was as if you were never injured. You had a few cracked ribs but after x-rays a few days ago, they were gone. It’s the same with your burns and lacerations.”

“That’s weird.”

“It was as if you—never mind. Anyway, you’re fine, physically, so let’s not dwell on it too much.”

“Did anyone die?”

“No, surprisingly enough. You were the worst case.”

“That’s good.”

“Ah huh, besides the burns and blunt trauma, you did have some considerable brain trauma as a result of a blow to the head. However, from the latest scan, same with your physical injuries, you appear to have completely healed. Nevertheless, we’ll continue to monitor. There shouldn’t be any major permanent damage but you may experience hallucinations and other visual and audio anomalies.”

“Hallucinations?” I asked, concerned.

“It’ll most likely be temporary as your brain gets back to work. Things in your peripheral vision and that sort. But if it doesn’t we have medication for that.”

“Hopefully, my insurance covers it,” I rolled my eyes, facetiously.

He laughed.

“I’m sure,” he said. “I’ll be back, I got to make a phone call.”

I nodded and he left.

A few minutes passed and he returned. He sat beside me and we watched a program where a gazelle was being chased by a lion and eating shit as it fell to the ground. We both just sat in silence, watching the television. I fiddled with the hem of my very short gown while Ian occasionally looked at the monitors beside me. About half an hour later I suddenly heard loud noises from outside the room. We could hear shouting and footsteps, loud ones, down the hall. I smirked.

“Please, you can’t come in—” the nurse from earlier said outside the room

“I have to see her. Get out of the way!” Another voice shouted outside.

“Marcus?” I asked.

Pushing the Nurse aside, Marcus stepped into the room.

“It’s okay,” Ian said, assuring the nurse.

She nodded, exasperated and left the room.

Marcus took off his patrol cap and held it over his heart. He stood at the foot of my bed, his face awestruck and on the verge of crying.

“Morgan?” He said in the softest voice I had ever heard.

“Ayuh, that’s the name, don’t wear it out,” I replied with a wink.

“You’re—you’re awake.”

I nodded.

“What’s up?” I asked, nonchalantly.

He ran to me and gave me a big old bear hug. I could feel him cracking my spine. The sensation of released stress in my bones was so relieving that I groaned in appreciation. I patted him on the back, affectionately. He pulled back and stood beside Ian who was sitting in a chair now at the corner of the bed by my feet. He didn’t say anything.

“He’s just so overwhelmed,” Ian reassured with a smile. “He took your injuries the hardest.”

I grinned.

“Oh, I—I got you these," he said, walking out of the room and coming back in with a bouquet of fruits cut into flowers.

“Ah shit, thanks, Marcus,” I beamed, taking the bouquet. “These are my favorite.”

“I knew you’d like them. It was short notice so I could only get the premade ones from the store on my way here.”

I took a whiff of the cut fruit and smiled.

“Thanks, Marcus, you sure know how to please,” I laughed.

“No problem, Morgan,” he said, a smile forming. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, sore and hungry as shit,” I said, taking a bite of a strawberry rose. “But besides that, I’m fine from what Ian said. But from what he said, I got pretty fucked up.”

I took a pineapple slice and nibbled on it.

“You were,” he said, turning from me to Ian. “How well is she, Ian?”

Ian sighed and furrowed his eyebrows in concern.

“She’s completely fine as if she was never injured. I did a series of biometrics on her for the past week and all her vitals are fine.”

“I don’t understand how that could have happened? She nearly died. How can she be just fine now?”

“I’ve been asking myself that, too,” Ian replied. “I asked my colleagues and they all say the same thing. It’s a miracle.”

I laughed, choking.

“Come on, a miracle? Next, you’re gonna say I got some guardian angel,” I cracked up. “ I mean, who cares how it happened? I’m fine now.”

Ian sighed.

“It just… troubles me is all.”

He turned to Marcus and they exchanged looks, knowing ones.

“What?” I asked, my mouth full of fruit.

“Nothing,” Ian shrugged off.

“Well, she’s fine now, right?” Marcus asked.

“Yes, quite.”

“Then there’s nothing left to say about that,” Marcus said, wiping his eyes. He knelt beside me and held my left hand. “Thank God you’re okay. I was so afraid you’d, that you’d—”

I rubbed his shiny bald head and grinned a toothy grin, the same one I used to reassure.

“I get it,” I smiled. “But I’m fine now, I think. I’ve been called thickheaded for a reason so everything be alright.”

I knocked my noggin. I turned to Ian.

“So how long am I gonna be stuck here?”

“Depends on your recovery. You’ll have to get used to using your legs again. We’ll have to keep monitoring your brain for any anomalies as well. So far we haven't found any but it’s still a possibility.”

“Am I at least on paid leave?”

“The precinct’s got your bills covered, Morgan. I made sure of it,” Marcus explained.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Phew, and I thought I’d have to pay the late fee on my rent. Free money and no work, sweet.”

The two men both chuckled.

“Always the monkey,” Marcus snickered.

“Ah shaddap, ya big oaf,” I laughed along, flicking my wrist.

“Anyway, try your best at getting back on your feet, okay?” Ian said.

“Yeah. I’ve been stuck on desk duty for the last month,” Marcus added.

“Hehe, you got it,” I smirked. “I ain’t no wimp. I’ll be outta here in no time.”

As we both laughed, the nurse from earlier walked in.

“Doctor Benson, we have the physical examination kit," she said.

“Good,” he nodded. “Marcus, we should get going while she does the physical.”

“Ah, right,” he nodded.

“Great, another girl-on-girl time, eh?” I chuckled.

Marcus sighed in bemusement.

“It’s been what, half an hour since she woke up and she’s already making jokes.”

“Hey, at least she’s back to normal?” Ian said

“That’s one thing I wouldn’t mind being changed,” Marcus replied, sarcastically.

“So what is she exactly looking for?”

“It’ll be a full physical so hair, blood, urine, the works to see if there are any strange readings,” Ian explained. “She’ll also do a gynecological examination as well as basic physical recordings.”

"Ha, this is the first time someone's been down there beside me," I said facetiously. "To think it'd be another woman."

Ian blushed and Marcus shook his head.

"You do have that butch sort of vibe to you, " Marcus joked, deadpan.

"Shit really? Is that why the guys avoid me?"

"And why they always reject you."

The nurse looked around awkwardly which made all three of us burst out laughing.

“Alright, we’ll be going now,” Ian said.

“I’ll come by tomorrow to check up on you,” Marcus said.

“Right, see ya later,” I said.

“I’ll swing by later today with your dinner,” Ian said.

I nodded.

Alright, well get on, get,” I said. “That is unless ya two want to watch.”

They both made a face of mock disgust and headed for the door. I snickered to myself as he and Marcus stepped outside to let the nurse do her work. I looked up at the ceiling and rubbed the back of my head wondering of the information now flooding into my brain. A month? Am I really okay?

* * *

 

The examination was grueling, two hours of tests after tests, needles, cups, CT-scans, everything took a toll on me, especially after just waking up. The nurse left about an hour ago. It felt very uncomfortable to have someone, well, down there. But at least it was all done. Now I could lay in bed and watch television. My rehabilitation sessions would begin tomorrow so today was my last free day for a while. I sighed and leaned back. The news was going off about the attack at the UN Headquarters. I was surprised, not at the attack itself but how long it took before it was. I would have thought with all the new world order nuts that they’d at least attempt to attack the Headquarters, the closest thing to their fears. But hey, leave it to people to put things off until later, not that I was any different. In fact, I was probably the worst at this. Grabbing the remote on my lap, I increased the television’s volume, flipping through the channels in boredom.

_ —It is clear from what the FBI and other government officials have both gather that the attack last month was the result of an anarchist group affiliated with the Redeemers. It is also concluded that the Redeemers had indeed directed the terrorist group and facilitated their actions— _

_ —Following an emergency meeting, the president of the United States, with unanimous support of the other nations of the Security Council, declared the Redeemers and those internationally affiliated with the umbrella group a terrorist syndicate— _

_ —In an exclusive interview, the General Secretary has declared an emergency meeting with the UN Security Council in response to the growing number of violent anti-government movements across the globes— _

_ —It’s been almost a month since the Governor of New York has issued a statewide State of Emergency following the mass terrorist attack on the UN Headquarters and other related attacks. Several vocal anti-government rallies have been staged across New York and neighboring states as the ordering of a State of Emergency spreads. So far Delaware, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Maryland and Florida have issued various degrees of alertness— _

_ —The World Health Organizations has declared the outbreaks of flu in Southern China and South Korea to be the work of a new strain of Canine Flu. This new strain of the seasonal H-three-N-two virus has shown to have mutated with the H-seven-N-nine avian influenza virus and has so far been reported in outbreak levels in sixteen countries, primarily in Asia but with outbreak-level numbers in countries as far as Germany, France, Russia, Brazil, Canada and most recently in the United States in Miami, Boston and most recently cases in Long Island with purported six thousand cases and mounting— _

_ —It is still unknown the reason behind the cases of mass psychosis in Philadelphia, Baltimore, Boston, Miami, Atlanta, and now New York City. The CDC in a press conference has stated they are conducting a full-phase investigation to uncover the origins of thee disturbing violent crimes— _

_ —John F. Kennedy Airport has reopened after the devastating mass killing of sixteen people, including the gunman, Abel Lewis, a known member of the Army of God splinter group, Shields of the Gospel that managed to avoid arrest. It is believed that the Redeemers hid him from police. The motive of the shooting is suspected to be a result of the shooter’s involvement with the now notorious doomsday cult, the Church of God’s Deliverance.” _

_ “What is your take on this latest outbreak, Professor?” _

_ “Well, with the latest happenings, I believe I am not alone in stating this is nothing like we have ever seen. You hear that often but truly it is something never experienced before.” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “These incidents of mass psychosis are something unprecedented. What you have seen that has been sprouting all along the Eastern Seaboard seemingly overnight I believe has something to do with—” _

_ —The death count continues to mount as officials scramble to uncover the motives and origin to the sudden influx of murders in the East Coast. So far, in Boston, a thousand incidents of violent crimes have occurred in the last week. Miami has experienced a spike of seven hundred percent and Long Island had a record breaking six thousand confirmed psychotic cases, being the origin site to a smuggling bust by members of P.A.T.H.S, the People for Animal Trust and Husbandry Society who released several hundred smuggled dogs that according to Chinese officials were infected with H-three-N-two virus. The Chinese government has demanded that those responsible must be extradited to China to which the President responded with assurances that those responsible would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law in the United States— _

_ —National Guardsmen have now begun a coordinated restructuring yesterday from New York City after the bombings a month prior, now known as the ‘June Offensive’ by Redeemer support— _

I changed the channel. This sucked. So much was happening and just listening to it made my brain hurt. What was wrong with the world. Once I got out of the hospital, I’d have zero free time. It pissed me off. I sighed. At least for now I had time to myself. I’d have to have Marcus bring me some books to read or my handheld games. I closed  my eyes and laid back down, loosening my tense body. As I lay for a few moments, I suddenly felt the lights flutter. I furrowed my brow and groaned. Right, when I was comfortable the lights went out. I sat up and noticed the lights flickering as if a moth was flying into it. I looked up. I furrowed my brow, unnerved by the flickering light.

“Dammit,” I snapped.

Right when I was about to lay back down, I saw movement to my left in the peripheral of my vision. My heartbeat rapidly increases from the sudden movement and startled me. Turning to it, I saw the darkened corner of the room. The way the light was, Everything beyond the narrow halo of light from the flickering fluorescent bulb above me was absolutely black. This was weird. It was perfectly lit in the hallway and light would have reflected into the room at least giving me a bit of residual and refracted light. But this darkness was sucking it up like a sponge. Lights flickered here or there. I was spooked but remained steady as I spoke out.

“Hello?”

No one answered. I exhaled and turned to the hallway and the large windows to my right. Several  people walked back and forth down the hall, seeing the other patients. There were a lot of people but none seemed to notice what was happening. Turning back, I felt a cold sweat form on my face and neck. In the dark, I saw the shape of a person standing in the dark corner. I slowly inched away and spoke.

“Nurse? Nurse!? There’s someone in here,” I said.

I dared not take my eyes off the figure standing menacingly still across the room. I gritted my teeth.

“What’cha want?” I snapped. “Show yerself, asshole!”

The figure began to twitch and jerk in a frightening speed. I back pedaled until I had reached the edge of my bed. Then it moved. It walked towards me staying just out of sight of the light. As it did, the lights went out one by one as it drew closer until only the light above my bed was left, illuminating me like a stage light. It was at the foot of my bed and just stood there looming over me, a black figure in the darkness. I was in no condition to fight, especially if this person had a weapon. I dared not move to press the emergency nurse button out of fear of retaliation. My voice got caught in my throat as the thing leaned closer. When I saw its face my blood ran cold.

It was me. It couldn’t. I was me and this thing wasn’t. But what was different was its white hair and ruby-colored eyes.

“Does the Advocate fear anything?” It said.

I couldn’t speak, the absolute terror caught my voice. It was just a foot away, its neck was snaked around my body like a constrictor and its face, my face, right in front of me. Was I going to faint? This was a dream, a hallucination. It must have been. But it felt so real, I could feel its cold, gray skin rubbing against me. It head was situated like a snake ready to swallow its prey. I was as stiff as a board as its head twitched and shook wildly.

“Does she fear the dark? Does she fear the Fates?” It asked, mockingly in my voice.

I felt like crying and I almost never cried. Someone help me, goddammit!

“Does she fear… me?” It hissed, leaning in and licking my cheek and neck.

I cringed in disgust and turned way as it licked along my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Does she fear love?” It smiled.

I flinched. It saw this and laughed. The thing laughter having a reverberation of multiple voices, six of them.

“Oh Ian, please fuck me, I need your big, fat cock inside me,” It mocked in my voice.

My face reddened at this and I furrowed my eyebrows.

“Shuddap!” I snapped, not thinking. “You’s not real!”

It oohed in surprise. 

“Does she fear? She does! She does! She fears the Fates against her.”

Blood began flowing out of its eyes and mouth. But this blood was black, like ink. It’s eyes slithered out of its sockets like big maggots and squirmed in my arms. I shuddered and shook violently in disgust.

I closed my eyes as it bit down on my neck, an excruciating pain poured into me and I seized up. Was it drinking my blood? Was I going to die? I screamed, trying to get someone to pay attention and help.

“Ah! Fuck, stop it!” I cried out, loud enough for anyone outside to hear.”Help, someone help! For Christ sake help me dammit!”

But there was no one as this thing bit down on me, poisoning fire into me. I began to tear up and groaned in pain. Clenching my teeth, I gasped as its hands gripped my hips and lifting them making my legs buckle. This pain as it bit down made me gag and cry. I didn't’ want this. I—I was afraid. Why was this happening? I couldn’t move, my arms were locked in by its coiled neck. This was horrible. I was completely helpless. This thing lifted me up above the bed and restrained my legs. Long fingers slithered and caress my inner thigh, inching closer to my crotch.

“Stop, stop!”

It released its mouth from my neck, blood pouring out of the wound. Its face came in front of mine. It licked up my tears and smiled the same toothy grin I had.

“For things to come, you must break. We shall see to your despair. You will make love with the Darkness and you shall fall.”

I closed my eyes, tears continuing to slither down my cheek as it released its grip on me. I fell back onto the bed, shaking and hot in the face and my heart running.

“All things must come to pass,” It said, retreating into the darkness, slowly. I lay on my side, exhausted and sweating, the pain in my neck slowly subsiding and the foreign feeling in my body dissipating. I looked up at it as it disappeared into the darkness.

“Fall into despair, for will be there.”

The lights came back on and it was gone. My eyes rolled into the back of my head and I felt darkness come over me. I shook my head and that feeling disappeared. I coughed violently and sat up, leaning on my arm as I caught my breath. My eyes were dull and listless. I was shell shocked and felt so out of it. I touched my neck to where that thing bit me. There was nothing, no wound nothing. I looked at my hand. There was no blood or anything. I check my arms. There was no marks or anything. What? All of this happened, right?

“Morgan? Are you okay?”

I sat frozen, still staring at the wall where I saw myself disappear into the wall. It was—It must have been a hallucination. It had to be. What else could it be?

“Morgan?”

“Hah?” I grunted, looking up.

Ian was standing in the doorway holding a tray of food. He looked at me with concern. I took a deep breath.

“Did you see?”

“See what?”

“What? Oh, um, sorry I spaced out,” I said, listlessly.

I shook my head and rubbed my temples. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sat up and scooted to the headboard of the hospital bed, hugging myself.

“You alright? You look like you saw a ghost," he chuckled.

“Heh,” I huffed, monotone. “Yeah, just the nerves I guess.”

“Are you okay?”

“Y—Yeah,” I said, nodded. “It… it was just a bad dream.”

I keep rubbing my neck but found no wound. I shrank as he stared at me, scrutinizing my excuse before simply smiling, absentmindedly.

“Come on, I got your dinner," he said, holding a tray of food.

I was still shaken up but the smell of bad hospital food never smelled so wonderful. He sat it on my lap and sat next to me. His presence was comforting, protecting.

He placed his hand on my forehead.

“You’re burning up? Might be a fever.”

I nodded. That thing, it must have been a fever dream or my frayed nerves. There was no other explanation. I had no bites so it couldn’t be real. What else could it be? I laughed at myself, nervously. How could I be so spooked and over nothing?

“After dinner, I’ll get you some fever medication.”

I nodded, unable to speak anymore. We didn’t say anything else as the announcer read off the names of the dead from the attack on Philadelphia's City Hall. I sighed and took a spoonful of flavorless soup. I was still shaking, that face—my face staring back at me, black blood pouring down my face. It made my brain hurt, throbbing in the back of the head. At that moment, I could hear my heartbeat. I shook my head and tossed that experience into my mind’s locker, never to think of it again.

“Say, Ian?”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“Can I be moved to another room?”

“Why is that?”

“I—I would feel better if I was not alone, ya’know?”

He nodded in understanding.

“You’ve been alone for a long time, haven’t you?” He smiled, gently and sadly.

“Yeah. I guess I have.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” I said, softly.

He placed his hand on my own. I didn’t notice it was trembling terribly.

“You’ve changed," he said, frowning.

“How so?”

“You seem a lot more on guard than you were before," he said. “You seem more vulnerable than back then.”

“It’s the nerves,” I explained away. “I’m still the lazy kicker of asses. Once I get back on my feet and together, I’ll be back to normal.”

I smiled, but even I felt not reassured by it.

“I hope so,” he said, looking into my eye. “I don’t want to say goodbye to the old Morgan. I barely got to know here.”

He grinned, innocently and it made my face flush. Damn this fever.

“I’ll come back,” I said. “The old me is all in here somewhere.”

I cleared my throat.

“Mind if I take this bandage off my eye? It’s annoyin’ me.”

“Sure. Let me.”

He leaned closer and began unwrapping the bandage around my head. After a bit of elbow grease, he removed it. But as he placed the bandage onto the tray next to him, he gasped. His face was troubled, all the color drained from it.

“What?” I asked, concerned. “Did it leave scars?”

“No,” he said, gravely. “No, this isn’t real. This can’t be.”

“What is it?”

“Your left eye.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s… red.”


	14. She Simply Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week has passed since Morgan awoke from her coma. But she is not the only thing that has awoken. Ian finds himself uncertain of his own feelings and concerns in the midst of the chaotic world beyond the quiet hospital.

****Thank god it was a Friday. I would have the weekend off but then again, the hospital was in a mad pace to make up for lost time. Maybe I would belay those two days off until this situation relaxed; I did not want to inconvenience anyone. We had a lot of injured coming in at every hour. The crime rate of the city had skyrocketed to a new height and the hospitals were seeing it firsthand. Since the nineteen-nineties, New York City's crime rate was below the national average. Now it was growing exponentially surpassing all other cities. In this month alone, we had over four hundred murders across the city, more than what we got the entirety of last year, mostly in Brooklyn and Queens. It was something unheard of, breaking any known record of the city's long and tumultuous past. The Bronx was out of the question for travel now after a police officer shot and killed a black graduate student the other day. The officer said he apparently went berserk and tried to bite him. Who was he kidding? They did not find H-three N-two in his system. The borough was ablaze with protests and with the heavy hand of the police, the situation was deteriorating fast. What a damn shame. Manhattan as horrendous as the events that had occurred was spared much of the bloodshed that had begun occurring with these bizarre psychotic incidents. In fact, we had none, giving the theory of the outbreak of this new strain of H-three N-two more credibility as the cause.

I tossed the folder in my hand onto the pile of read reports. I needed to get some air. Standing up, I exited my office and headed to the ICU. Walking down the hall, I saw two officers. They were not here on a case but for added security. I shook my head. The incident with the children and the protesters, not surprisingly part of the Redeemers, was causing so much strife in the city. More and more people were becoming hostile of the government and of the hospitals by proxy. The police was hated by all demographics which certainly did not help with the rising crime rates and maintaining order. I was worried for Marcus and Morgan. Due to the shortage of police in many of the precincts of Long Island as a result of the outbreak over there, a detachment of the New York National Guard was sent two days ago to help FEMA and provide security from rising radicalization within the island's 'stranded' populace. As of yesterday, the number of cases had reached eighty-six thousand, an increase from six thousand only a week ago. Since the Governor of New York had ordered a complete halting of traffic in and out of Long Island, effectively quarantining it, riots broke out all over the place and more people were getting hurt. People who were not infected demanded that they be allowed to leave to no avail. Those that were resisted were forced into quarantine. While I did agree with their grievances, the way they went about their change was not productive. In fact, it was causing a lot of problems of their own. Looting, shootouts with the National Guard and police, attempted escapes via the river all proved fruitless and only served to stretch the emergency services thin. The police were still searching for the twenty-one children that had escaped from Mount Sinai. The parents of the sick were nowhere to be found as well. They had found three of the kids but the rest were still unaccountable. I heard on the radio this morning that they discovered one of the children in a maintenance tunnel beneath Union Square. New York had miles upon miles of tunnels and sewage lines that ran underneath the city. The largest of these tunnels was the still under-construction Water Tunnel Number Three, a part of the city's water supply system which stretched five hundred feet beneath the surface from up north in Yonkers, a good fifteen miles, to Manhattan and through the other boroughs. It had been under construction since the nineteen-seventies. I remember looking it up on the internet once. The tunnels were quite large; cars could drive through most of them. The valve chambers which regulated water flow were even larger, the size of basketball stadiums in some cases. Some of these tunnels were filled with water and operational but many more were still under construction. Could those people be hiding the children down there? I did not know and it made me anxious to see the resolution to that matter.

To think that only a week ago, Mount Sinai had experienced such a horrendous tragedy. Seven nurses had been killed, two of which I had the honored privilege to have worked with. God rest their souls and heal their families. While we had become quite busy these few days, we had it under control, at least for the most part. It was on par with the work after the Plaza bombing if not a bit tighter. With the death of the seven nurses, we had a labor shortage that made it harder to get things done in a more timely fashion.

Now that I was on break, I could finally check up on Morgan. She had been in observation since she had collapsed during the break in from a mild seizure. Despite how she looked, I knew she had not fully recovered from her injuries. Who would be after being nearly blown up to pieces by a truck bomb with two hundred pounds of Tannerite explosive. It was a miracle she was not completely eviscerated by the shrapnel or burned beyond recognition. The fact she was awake and moving about was… unnerving. Though, I was not complaining that she was out and about. But something was wrong. There was something off about how she managed to recover so well and so quickly, especially with such a traumatic brain injury. Those red eyes, how was that possible? And her hair. How could it change color so quickly. She… wasn’t normal. She tore a woman’s arm off and sent a man smashing into a brick wall with a single punch. Was that even possible? I furrowed my brow in thought as I entered the ICU lobby. I sighed calming myself as a friendly face greeted me.

"Morning, Doctor Benson," One of the desk ladies greeted.

"Good morning Miss Edison," I smiled back, crossing the lobby. "How's John?"

"He's fine," she smiled. "Got a little scared about his surgery but he's fine now."

"Wonderful," I said. "I heard your anniversary is coming up soon. Congratulations."

"Yes, In fact, he and I are going on vacation to Santa Barbara next week for our anniversary."

"Wow, lucky for you two. I heard it's beautiful this time of year," I remarked, reaching for one of the candies on the desk.

"It is," she chuckled.

"Hmm, well I best get going," I said, popping the caramel into my mouth. "It was nice talking to you."

"Likewise."

Walking down the hall, I reached Morgan's door. It was closed and yet I heard the distinct sound of a cat being tormented by the incessant shenanigans of a clever mouse. I smiled then I opened the door. Morgan was bawling on her bed as the bulldog used the cat as a cello.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

“Hah?” She gawked.

She turned around and looked at me, a spoon in her mouth and a pudding cup in her hand. She was still wearing a medical eyepatch on her left eye and her hair was much longer now, messily hanging down to her neck, bangs swept to the left. I stood straight up.

“What’cha want, Ian?” She questioned, pointing a bored look at me. “Ya almost made me drop my pudding.”

She pointed her spoon at me accusatively awaiting an answer.

“Sorry. Where's your roomie?"

"Sarah's in physical therapy right now," she said.

"I see."

I looked her over. I stopped smiling. Her eyes were gray again, at least her right eye. There was a reason why I had her wear that eyepatch on her left. Unlike her right, her left eye has remained a blood red. It even emitted a slight luminescence in the dark. This was unprecedented. If people found out they would have put her in some lab for study or something. She knew it as well as I so kept it covered. The other doctors took my lie of additional time for healing at face value.

"Hey, What'cha starin' at?" She asked, picking up a milk carton from the bedside tray.

"Ah sorry, I was just thinking," I said, sitting down beside her.

"What 'bout?" She asked, taking a sip of milk. "What's the matter? It’s ‘bout my eye, huh."

"Ah, no, nothing really," I waved off.

"Hah? Ah, don't do that 'oh everything's fine' bullshit on me, Ian. If ya got something spill it," she demanded. "Ya Midwest folk are always beating 'round the bush."

"Maybe it's you New Yorkers that are too fast," I joked. "Sounds like you're gagging on a half dozen dicks."

She snorted out milk from her nose at my crude joke and threw her head back as she lay down.

"That's attractive," I laughed.

She punched my arm.

"Ah, damn it Morgan why do you punch so hard?"

"What'cha expect from me? A dainty flower askin' about how ya day been?" She laughed. "I couldn't give a damn. Oh, by the way how was ya day?"

"Fine. Maybe if you did you'd be more successful with men," I shot back with a smile.

"Oh shots fired." She pursed her lips.

My eyes softened as I stifled my laugh. She looked so innocent and carefree right now, a far cry from that night in the lobby. The blood-red eyes and white hair still haunted me. I looked down, my eyes hovering over her crossed legs. Then it came to me. I was remembering the events of the day after she woke up, two after the incident with the children. I don’t know why but it just came to mind now.

* * *

  _Morgan was sitting up in bed, her legs spread wide despite the rather shortness of her gown. She was only awake for a day and already she was getting back into her old skin. I cleared my throat to announce my presence. However, she did not close her legs and I had to avert my gaze. She had no tact. It was endearing in its own way, I guess. At least she had a tray over her lap._

_“Sup," she nodded, stuffing her face with a ham sandwich._

_“How’s it going?” I asked her._

_She shrugged her shoulders._

_“Fine. This rehabilitation program blows, though," she moaned. “It’s so boring, I should be out there with Marcus not here eating shit food and walking like an old hag.”_

_She sighed._

_“At least the pudding’s good.”_

_I grabbed a seat next to her. The memory of her writhing in pain and tossing me across the room came to mind. Was that really a seizure?_

_“You feeling alright?”_

_“Yeah, I think so. I’ve been having a bit of vision blur, though. Whenever I enter a dark hall or whatever, I feel lightheaded and see things." She said, her voice serious._

_“See things? Like what?”_

_She was about to speak but stopped herself. A troubled look came about her._

_“I see dead people," she explained._

_She then busted into laughter, nearly spilling her food on the floor._

_“Haha! You should’da seen ya face!” She said, her accent returning._

_I was not amused._

_“You’ve been awake for a day and you’re already cracking jokes.”_

_“I’m sorry," she laughed, wiping her eyes. “Got’cha good didn’t I?”_

_I shook my head in amusement._

_When her laughter died down, I noticed her exhaling. She looked down and her lip quivered. If I was not looking I would have missed it. Was she—_

_“So how’s work?” She asked, abruptly._

_“Huh? Oh, it’s been fine. I had some trouble earlier but, um, I’m alright.”_

_I began chuckling when I felt her small hand on my cheek locking my gaze with hers. She was furrowing her brow._

_“What happened?” She asked, focused._

_My face was burning up as she let go. Why was she—never mind. I was thinking too deep into it._

_“Huh?”_

_“What happened? Everyone’s been looking at me weirdly since I woke up yesterday. It’s like if they saw a ghost or somethin’.”_

_“Don’t worry about it,” I said, avoiding her gaze._

_“What’cha worried ‘bout?” She asked._

_“Nothing,” I shrugged._

_“Bullshit, spill it," she winked._

_I sighed. There was no avoiding it._

_“Was he crying it, too?”_

_“Ah yes, he was. Wait, what—”_

_“The boy that I saw. The one that ran away. He was crying somethin’ black, wasn’t he?”_

_How did you—”_

_“Lucky guess," she quickly explained. “I remember little bits and pieces. Apparently, from what I could get from the nurses I was awake for a bit two days ago.”_

_“So you threatened them?”_

_“More like I gave them a strong talkin’ to. Anyway, what happened to him? Is he sick like those people on Long Island?”_

_“Yes. The morning you got injured, I was treating him for a fever. He came in after he had been wandering through the city’s underground and fell.”_

_Morgan didn’t speak, returning to her meal._

_“Here," she said, handing me a juice box._

_“For me?”_

_“Ah huh," she nodded. “Ian, I rarely share my food so you should take it as a rare gift. Remember when we went to the Aquarium?”_

_I nodded and took the juice box._

_“And you gave me some bread.”_

_“Yup, that’s right.”_

_As I drank it, I noticed she was looking with anticipation._

_“Delicious,” I smiled._

_We both laughed as we turned our attention to the television. Sitting in silence for a few minutes, Morgan spoke._

_“So shit’s hitting the fan, huh?”_

_“The news is blowing it out of proportion,” I said. “This is just another scare.”_

_“I don’t know," she joked. “When the dead start walking around, it might not be such a good look.”_

* * *

 "What?"

"I dunno," she said, shrugging her shoulders. “You’s were starin’ at me.”

I rubbed the back of my head.

“Sorry, I was just spacing out.”

"Anyway, how's work?" She asked.

"Well, since the incident we've been very busy. But we'll manage."

I turned to her. She was looking down at her lap, her eyes blank and half-closed.

"I see."

"Something wrong?"

"Hah? What?"

"You okay, Morgan?" I asked. "You were spacing out."

"Ah, I guess I was. I only woke up maybe forty minutes ago so what‘cha expect?"

"You're not upset, are you?" I asked, teasingly at her answer.

"Nah, why would I be upset?" She asked with a huff of amusement. "Shit… happens."

I wanted to speak again but I stopped myself. Maybe it was too early. Then again, it was Morgan; why was I approaching the subject so cautiously?

"How's your head doing? You took a nasty fall that night."

"Eh, I'm fine. Just had to rest for a few days," she said. "I can't believe I fainted. God I feel like such a fucking pussy."

She wiped her face with her hands in exasperation.

"I guess even Morgan can—"

"Don't finish that sentence, ya big oaf."

Her finger was pointed at me, threateningly.

"Okay, I'll stop," I laughed. "Mind if I check your eye?”

She frowned and nodded. I flipped her eyepatch up so her eye was exposed. Closed, it looked normal. But when she opened it, I could tell it was off. Her eye was red where it should be gray. Speckles of gold were in it as well, shining back at me.

“What the hell could this be?” I asked myself.

“Beats me. Do I really have to wear this eyepatch?”

“Yes. At least until you leave the hospital. I can’t risk you being taken in by the men in black,” I tried to joke. “Mind if I check the news?"

"Yeah go ahead," she said, putting her eyepatch back on.

Turning to the television, I switched the channel.

_As the unprecedentedly powerful category-five Hurricane Antipas made landfall at Miami yesterday, local officials could not have anticipated the sheer destruction it created. Thirteen thousand have been declared missing in Miami alone and another sixteen hundred missing in the surrounding area. With its first landfall, Hurricane Antipas has become the deadliest hurricane in US History since the Galveston Hurricane in Nineteen Hundred, more than doubling its death toll. However, Hurricane Antipas is not yet finished. Since yesterday, it has rode along the East Coast gaining more speed rather than decreasing past Georgia and the Carolinas. As of this hour, Virginia is being bombarded with devastating flooding and wind. With hurricane force winds pushing beyond that of a category-five, this calamity will most definitely—_

_When bad things happen, I know you want to believe they are a joke, but sometimes life is scary and dark. That's why we must find the light—_

_Welcome to the real world. It sucks. You're gonna love it!_

_"With the outbreak of H-three N-two reaching record numbers in the New York Metropolitan Area—_

_The mayor has asked that the people enforce restraint on protests and demonstrations in order to allow for the finishing of the last of the seawalls for Hurricane Antipas which is expected to make landfall in the next forty-eight hours. If this storm does not lessen in severity once it reaches New York, the effects will most definitely be tragic."_

_"Controversy arises once again for the Prime Minister of Israel from the United Nations after an IDF army unit massacred several hundred Bedouins in the city of Rahat and the surrounding townships. The motive is yet unknown due to the fact that the Bedouin minority was not involved in the ongoing ethnic uprising of Arabs and Ethiopian Jews. However, after several cases of H-three N-two have been reported in Gaza City and Tel Aviv, officials have now considered it the cause of the rogue IDF unit's behavior. When asked, the Israeli Prime Minister has denied the army's involvement, labeling it 'isolated incidents'. For the United States, public support for the expeditionary force to Israel has reached an all-time low of thirty-eight percent, dropping nearly twenty-six points following the news of the Rahat Massacre."_

_Maybe mistakes are what make our fate; without them what would shape our lives? Maybe if we had never veered off course we wouldn't fall in love, have babies, or be who we are. After all, things change, so do cities, people come into your life and they go. But it's comforting to know that the ones you love are always in your heart. And if you're very lucky, a plane ride away—_

I sighed heavily, changing the channel and muting the television. Now New York was going to face a monster as Hurricane Antipas. Would it ever end? New York had already been dealt a devastating blow. It was divided; the leadership was faltering. This city was failing. The sound of Morgan stretching her back with a loud groan and a pop drew my attention away from the television.

"Tired?"

"Nah, why would I be?"

"You seem off today. Was it about what happened."

"I said I'm fine," she said with a bit more force.

"Ah, sorry for prying."

She waved my apology off and have me a small smile.

"I just need a smoke but this damn hospital won't let me," she groaned. "It'll be 'detrimental to my health' they said. Well shit so is a fucking explosion."

She huffed in exasperation.

"I think I need a walk," she said. "Can't sit on my fat ass all day, right?"

I nodded and stood up.

“I wouldn't say fat, more like shapely,” I said, motioning my hands.

She punched my arm at my sarcastic joke and laughed.

She sat up. I offered my hand but she refused, shakingly standing up. Once she grabbed a hold onto her walker, she was steady. I opened the door only to be met by a nurse, holding a massive bouquet of flowers.

"Oh, Doctor Benson, hello," she smiled.

"Huh? Nurse what is this?"

"This is for Officer Morgan, looks like you have a fan," she smiled, turning to her.

"A fan, oh, gimme!" Morgan chimed, excited. “What luck!”

The nurse handed her the flowers before leaving.

"Is it from Marcus?"

"Nope, it says, let me see. Ah, 'To the loveliest Cop in all of New York, get well soon and kick some butt. Your Biggest Fan'. Ha, ya see this?" She laughed, showing me the card. "People do care for!"

The words on the card were innocent enough but they just seemed off somehow. It was any other time, it would have been fine. But with everything that had gone down, it was… disconcerting. What was this? Was this that damn Father Adamson? But maybe it was just me being paranoid.

"Someone likes me?" She asked, laughing at herself self-deprecatingly. "That's a first."

"Morgan aren't you concerned? This guy might be a stalker."

"Nonsense," she waved. "There ain't anyone crazy enough to like me. Besides, I’ve been getting these sort of things since I first became a cop. Probably some school kids."

I gulped. She’s been getting this stuff for the past five years?

"Still, it could be dangerous."

"Haha! Ian, don't look down on me. I can handle some neckbeard if it comes down to it. Besides, this is probably someone harmless."

She was making jabbing motions with her fits. I frowned. I didn't like this at all.

"C’mon, Mister Worrywort. I could go for a walk," she said, placing the bouquet onto the bedside table.

I swallowed my concern and followed her out of the room. Closing the door, we headed down the hallway. I kept a slow pace to stay at her side as we walked. I chuckled to myself. For whatever reason I found it very amusing seeing Morgan concentrating with all her might to trudge along. It was as if she was defusing a bomb with every step.

"Didn't you say you don't like exerting yourself?"

"Yeah, but if I don't right now I'll be stuck with a huge bill and I can't afford that right now."

"I could help pitch in if you want," I suggested.

She waved her hand at me.

"Nah, I'm good. I don't like owin’ people favors, ya’know?"

"I see. Keep up the good work then, bambi," I smiled.

She nodded.

Passing a side hall, I turned back and looked down at Morgan.

"Want to hit the cafeteria?"

She gave me a look that told me 'did you really have to ask?'

"Cafeteria it is."

* * *

 “Let’s head back,” I said.

“Ah," she grunted in agreement, putting another pudding cup on a tray attached to her walker.

"I heard from your attending nurse the other day you're being moved to the General wing since your wounds have healed up."

"Ah huh, I'll be there for a few more days, a week at the most depending on if I’m still walkin’ like a mook. Then I'm finally outta here."

"That's good," I said. "Marcus must be quite bored not having you around."

"I could say the same for you," she teased, munching on a bag of pretzels.

"Yeah," I whispered.

Wiping the table down, I turned to Morgan.

"Ready to head back?"

"Yup."

Once she was reacquainted with her walker, we crossed the atrium to the hallways to the elevators. Once we were back upstairs, we headed down the hall. As we headed to the ICU just down the hall, I felt Morgan tugging on my sleeve. Turning around, I noticed she was looking off down another hallway.

"Where does that go?" She asked, pointing to the long hall opposite of our direction.

"Oh that? That's the Maternity Ward."

"Can we check it out?" She asked, turning to me.

I thought for a moment. I had work in about twenty minutes but it should be fine if we were just going to look around a bit. As long as we did not enter any of the rooms, we should be fine.

"Sure, we'll have to make it quick, though. I have to get back to work."

She nodded and we headed down the hall to the lobby of the Maternity Ward. Entering it, I waved to the receptionists.

"Excuse me, is it alright if I give this patient a quick tour of the Maternity Ward. She's a police officer of the Central Park Precinct."

"Ah yes, I recognize the face. You're that police officer from the Plaza Incident, right?"

"That's me," she nodded.

"I see. Poor dear," she noted, looking over Morgan's many bandages with a sympathetic gaze. “Please sign in here and sign back out when you leave."

I signed in and handed Morgan the pen. Once she signed on the paper, we headed through the main hall and proceeded through the ward, passing surgery and observation rooms, the room where the fathers that were barred by their spouses for watching were kept and the room where the fathers punched by their spouses were kept. My father was one of those men. I snickered at the memory as we passed several nurses.

"This place is freakin’ noisy," Morgan remarked wiggling her finger in her ear. "Everyone's shoutin’ and runnin’ around."

She flicked the earwax from her finger to my distaste. She really was something else.

"Well this is where the women go into labor," I said.

“Hmm, will I be here someday?” She said, barely at a whisper.

I flushed.

"Come on, I'll show you the nursery then I have to get back to work."

She grunted and we left this part of the Maternity Ward to where the babies were kept for observation. It was much quieter, only a nurse would occasionally pass us by. I turned to her. Her face was blank with her natural bored and sleepy expression and she was looking down as we walked. I felt like saying something but I stopped myself. Walking down the hall, I checked my phone. It was twelve fifty. Ten more minutes and I would have to get back to work. Stopping at a side hall, I turned to Morgan.

"We're here," I said. “This is the nursery.”

I pointed to the wall to our left where the entirety of it was made of glass with bright white light piercing the dimly lit hallway we were in. Morgan wheeled herself beside me and peered into the room. There were dozens of small beds with a baby in each. A nurse was inside checking on them. She waved at me before returning to her task. There were several other people down the hall from us looking at the children as well. Looking down at her, I noticed Morgan's face was scrunched up deep in observation as she looked at the closest child, a small baby boy soundly asleep.

"They're so… small," she noted to herself.

"Well, they are babies."

"They look like aliens," she frowned, looking intently. "Their faces look so weird. To think a baby like that became someone like you."

She whispered that last part so I assumed she did not intent for me to hear.

"Someone like me? What do you mean?" I asked, teasingly.

She flinched and looked up.

"I meant how could something so small become, well... this," she said, flailing her arms up and down at how tall I was compared to her.

"My mom made me drink a lot of milk."

"Lucky," she frowned. "We didn't have much."

She trailed off and my gaze softened.

"So I guess hospitals are a lot more than a place for dead people," she remarked.

"Huh?"

She sighed.

"I always thought since… a long time ago that hospitals were only for when someone was dead or dying," she said, looking at the baby.

She placed one of her bandaged hands on the glass separating us from the nursery.

"But I guess this place brings new life, too."

I smiled.

"That's what a doctor's duty is, saving and bringing about new lives."

"Hmm, and I—"

She stopped and turned to me. I was confused as she clutched my shirt and lowered her head, her hair covering her eyes.

"Morgan? Are you—"

"Don't take this the wrong way. It's the medication messin’ with my brain, okay? It's makin’ me feel woozy," she said. "It's not like I need any help or anythin’. Got it?"

She pressed the top of her head against my chest, her face turned downward to her feet.

"Morgan I think—"

She interrupted me again.

"Just stay like this for me for a bit, I need to catch my balance."

After a few seconds of silence, she sighed.

"Was I right to do it?"

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Do what?" I asked.

"To kill those two people."

Was that what was troubling her? I see.

"There aren't going to be any charges so it was justified."

"No, I mean do you think I did the right thing?"

I did not answer, still confused at this whole situation.

"I killed someone, Ian," she said, barely more than a whisper. "I killed that boy, that girl. For goodness sake, I—I tore that girl’s arm off. How did I do it? How?"

She was trembling; her fingers gripped my shirt to the point her knuckles were white.

"Morgan?"

She chuckled nervously.

"Doesn't that disgust you, being in the presence of a murderer?"

"Morgan you didn't murder, it was in self-defense."

"Does your god know that? Does he make exceptions?"

I did not reply. She was panting, not looking me in the eye.

"But those two. They were teenagers. I saw it on the news. What was he, seventeen? That girl, sixteen? I don't even think they was out of high school."

I did not speak, unsure of what else to do.

"I could've maybe stopped them some other way. Maybe kick them or distract ‘em or somethin’."

I squeeze her tight to me.

"You saved my life back there," I whispered into her ear. "If it wasn't for you I might not be here now. You saved me."

She was shivering and her breathing was labored.

"I owe you everythin’."

She gasped for air. Was she okay? She looked up at me with her downturn eyes. Her face was red like a tomato and only inches from me. I do not know why but a sudden urge came over me. I enveloped Morgan in my arms, protectively, even though she was neither in danger or needed it anyway. But still, I held her. I could feel her breath against my chin and her chest thumping, synchronizing with mine. It was then as I looked at her that I realized. She was prepossessing. But this beauty was not limited to her face or her rather captivating body that I held. It was more than that. Perhaps this was just the suspension bridge effect and I was mistaking comfort with an attraction but somewhere I knew differently. I had known that for a while now. When I saw her now pressed into my chest, her small and diminutive form, I knew. She was a woman. I felt my heart grow tight as I closed my eyes. That boy asked me back at the Aquarium how I felt for Morgan. I now knew what I felt when I saw her. From head to toe this girl, this tomboyish, sloppy beat cop with a funny bounce to her step and her goofy, toothy grin that now clung to me for support told me she was simply… Morgan.

"Um, okay, I'm good, bruh," she said, breaking this illusion of mine.

I opened my eyes as I released my hold of her, my breath hardly maintaining me. I needed to get back to work less I do something I would regret. I awkwardly rubbed the back of my head.

"To think Morgan would need someone to tell her everything's alright," I teased, attempting to break this very uncomfortable situation. “What is she, a girly girl?”

"Hah?" She gawked, returning almost immediately to this brash and unrefined cop that I was hoping would return. "Man, I get a little woozy and you're all hands."

She blew a raspberry.

"Honestly, you'll never get a girl like that, Ian," she laughed, mockingly. “Maybe with those big hands of yours.”

She puffed out her chest and had her hands on her hips.

"Hey, I wasn't the one that grabbed onto my shirt for comfort."

She gave me a bemused look then clocked me in the stomach. I knelt to the ground in pain, the wind knocked out of me.

"Oh Sorry, my fist moved on its own."

I laughed straining to breathe. Getting back up we both laughed as the atmosphere completely evaporated back to a sense of comical normalcy.

"Damn, Morgan, you can really punch."

She blew her fist like a pistol.

"Thanks, bud," she winked, looking at the clock on the wall. "Well, I should probably get back to my room. Ya got work to do, right?"

"Ah yeah, I do," I said.

"Then I'll leave it to ya," she waved, grabbing her walker and slowly trudging along, passing me.

"Don't you need help?"

"I ain't no weak bitch, Ian," she waved, her back to me. "I got this."

About halfway down the hall, she looked over her shoulder.

She uttered, her face rosy.

"Huh?" I asked. "I did not quite catch it."

"Never mind!" She shouted, quickly. “Idiot!”

She continued on.

"Don't get lost."

She waved me off and disappeared around a corner. I smiled as I felt my heart race. Things would be a lot different now, I thought.I fisted my hands into my pockets and headed to the elevator. My heart was still racing as entered one of the raised halls of the hospital with large bay windows on either side. The sky was darkening and rain was beginning to fall. Hurricane Antipas was coming. This rain storm was not something normal, though, it felt off. It felt forced. As the rain began to fall the windows, distant words came to mind.

_"Thanks for being there for me."_

I smiled softly. I’m going to take things slow this time.

“No problem, Morgan. I’ll always be there for you. What are… friends for?"


	15. Down Eighty-fifth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks have passed since Morgan awoke from her coma. Now discharged from the hospital, she and Marcus go out to lunch to bring her up to speed on the events of the past month and a half. But as she learns more of the recent happenings, she begins to release the world has changed since she last stepped foot outside.

****"Here you are, Officer Morgan, your discharge papers, and belongings," the receptionist smiled. "The changing room is just down the hall.”

"Thanks ma'am," I curtly replied, taking the folder and bag of clothes.

"Your friend was very kind to bring you these."

"He's one helluva partner, after all."

The receptionist kept her gaze on me and I knew why.

“It’s my eye, isn’t it?” I asked, smiling shyly.

The woman flinched and shook her head.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s just—”

“Don’tcha worry,” I waved off. “It was from the incident. Not sure why.”

“I see. Well, I hope things work out for you.”

“Likewise,” I said. “Stay safe.”

I turned and walked away from the main desk and headed to the side hall. The changing room was marked with a plaque. Entering it, I found myself in a small empty room with several stalls. Since there was no one here I decided to remain in the open space. I changed into the clothes Marcus had delivered yesterday. He knew me so well, a pair of khaki shorts, plaid boxers, my flip flops, and a gray tank top. I dropped my hospital gown to the floor and looked shyly at myself in the mirror, pinching my skin and pulling it. No scars, no burns, nothing. I was relieved at this and I couldn't care less the reason. Looking myself over, I frowned. I was thinner than before. I still had my fit build thanks to the strenuous rehab but it seemed as if I had become even more petite. Was I shorter? Nah, I couldn't be. Could I? My shoulders were narrower as was my waist but my hips were... wider? It was as if my body had changed. I shook my head. I wondered if my butt was going to be too big for my uniform. Great, just fantastic I'd have to buy new pants. I blamed the hospital food. They should’ve warned me not to eat too much. Ah, who am I kidding. I don’t need to fit in my pants if I don’t wear any at home. I’m sure the Precinct will let me off with a few extra days off to recuperate, anyway. My hair was longer now, down to my shoulders. I’ll cut it later. I tied my hair into a loose side ponytail over my shoulder and rubbed my left eye. It felt completely normal but when I saw myself in the mirror, I knew I was wrong. It looked like I was wearing some stupid colored contact. Marcus’s gonna think I’m some weirdo. I laughed, slipping into my shorts and tank top. I placed my keys into my pocket and slipped into my sandals. Exiting the room, I found myself smushing my face and body into a hard shoulder. Stepping back and rubbing my nose, I looked up.

"Oh, sorry… Morgan?"

I loosened my pose as I realized who it was.

"Ah, Ian, what's up?" I asked, grinning. "I was meanin’ to see ya before I left."

"I see you're being discharged today, I'm glad."

"Thanks, after being here for freakin’ two months, it's about time I leave," I explained. "Besides, Marcus' probably been crying himself to sleep missin’ me."

I grinned at my joke.

"Well do you need anything or are you good to go?"

"I'm fine. I'm gonna meet up with Marcus at the cafe down the street then head home. I got a lot of cleaning I'm not going to do when I get back."

He laughed and patted my shoulder. His eyes were soft in their gaze. But when he smiled, I saw something else. I cocked my head to the side, confused by his unreadable expression.

“How’s your eye?”

“Fine,” I said. “I don’t feel anythin’ bad. It’s just weird seein’ red in the mirror instead of gray, ya’know?”

“I understand. I hope it doesn’t affect how people see you too much.”

“I’ve been alone for most of my life, Ian. I’m used to being by myself. Besides, my buddies at the precinct won’t mind. If I have to I’ll just say I’m wearing a contact or somethin’.”

“I see,” he said, frowning for a moment. “Let me know if anything comes up, okay? Any side effects or unusual pains, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got’cha,” I waved off, amused at his concern.

"Well then I'll be seeing you," he smiled. "Make sure to visit."

"Ya bet'cha," I said.

He then walked away down the hall from the Main Lobby. As I was about to turn and walk in the opposite direction, I heard him call my name again.

"Oh and Morgan," he said.

I turned to him.

"Stay safe, okay?" He said. "The city isn't like you remember."

I chortled at his warning, brushing it off.

"Sure, I got'cha," I grinned, closing my eyes. "I doubt my insurance will cover next time."

I opened my eyes and found him not returning my laughter. but as quickly as it was, he smiled.

"Alright, see you around.”

He then walked away, leaving me alone in the hall.

"Yeah, see ya later," I said to myself, waving awkwardly.

I walked back to the lobby. Stepping out of the hospital for the first time in nearly two months, I breathed in the 'fresh' Manhattan air. But it wasn't like I remember. The air was wet with the moisture of the previous night's rain and was bitter with the smell of burning trash and raw sewage. Ian was right; this place had taken a fucking baseball bat to the face. What was this? I knew it was bad from the little news I watched but seeing it for the first time was so much more intimate.

A week ago, Hurricane Antipas made landfall here. It completely shut down the city and only a few days ago were the main streets finally free of floodwater that traffic was possible again, not that anyone could actually afford to drive around now. The subway tunnels were flooded and thousands of homes were destroyed. Some of the skyscrapers too were damaged. Luckily, the hospital was prepared for the disaster and the damage was minimal. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I saw firsthand the damage. The streets were filled with sunken cars and parts of Fifth Avenue itself had collapsed where the foundation of the subway below had failed. Police tape surrounded it. Looking inside, I saw nothing, just the gloom of the darkness down below. It was too dark to see and I blamed my unaccustomedness to the natural light as the cause. I headed down Fifth Avenue towards Eighty-fifth but I wouldn't head down there just yet. I had to meet Marcus first.

There were notably less people around than I remember. I mean it was noon so people should be out for lunch. But all I saw was just a few here or there and most of them were emergency workers and police. I guess people were still trying to recover from the hurricane. That I could explain. However, what was with all these hazmat dudes walking around and the people wearing masks. Was I in Korea with all those people afraid of the flu? I had no idea and so I walked on, paying no attention to the leers of people walking past me. It was strange. This place was my home and yet it seemed so alien to me. Shaking the thought away, I kept my pace until I reached the cafe that Marcus had said to meet at. It wasn't hard to find; it was the only one on this block still up and running not to mention a regular haunt of mine. The park was in total disarray to my right. Looking at it, I realized that the hurricane was not the only problem we had. Big circus-sized tents were all over Central Park, rising above the still standing trees. Further and further south I walked, more and more people appeared. More of those hazmat dudes were walking about and dirty-looking people were forming lines. I even saw an army helicopter by the Tennis Center across the reservoir and a few men with rifles. It reminded me of New Orleans during Katrina. The sight made me dejected. I stopped in front of the building, a nice and quaint little Viennese cafe with a big man with a hat on his lawn chair out front with a rifle. I stopped for a moment, looking at this man.

“Kristoph?” I asked.

The large man looked up, lifting the brim of his hat. When he saw my face, he beamed.

“Morgan! Wie geht es dir?” He asked. “I saw on the news.”

“I’m good Kristoph,” I said. “I’ve been in recovery from the bombing at the Plaza.”

“Are you okay, now?” He asked. “I see your eye is red.”

“It’s a side effect, don’tcha worry ‘bout it.”

He looked at me with a puzzled look but then smiled.

“Well, glad you’re okay. Komm mit. Your friend is waiting for you.”

“Thanks.”

This quaint little cafe Marcus and I often frequented was imposing now that I looked at it after a near two months absence. From the glass display window, I saw Marcus in a corner watching the television in the top corner; His back was to me. The lights were out in the cafe and it was dark. From where the sun stood it was noon. The late August heat was broiling me and with the sewage systems in disrepair, the stench of filth was omnipresent, so too was the sound of radio chatter and megaphones. Before I entered, an idea came to mind. A smiled crept on my face. Yanking my pants to above my flat belly, I crooked my back to that of an old man and entered, making a strange face. I walked slyly to Marcus in the empty cafe and grinned goofily.

"Eh, ya young whippersnapper, how do ya do?" I said, mimicking a rickety old man's voice.

Marcus jerked his head and looked up.

"Morgan," he uttered.

"That's right buddy, it's me," I said.

Suddenly, I was caught off guard as he leaped from the table and hugged me, squeezing me tight. He lifted me from the ground and I dangled in his arms, my feet a foot off the ground.

"Eh! Marcus, let go ya creep!" I gasped, playfully. "You’s making me get them damn rickets!"

"Morgan you're back," he smiled, affectionately. "I'm so glad you could make it."

A shiver rippled down my spine.

"Okay. Let go now, Marcus!" I shouted, jabbing my fingers into his side. “Ya freak!”

He yelped and staggered back, giving me some breathing room.

"Jeez, Marcus. I could sue you ya'know. Who knew you's all hands."

"Sorry, I was just really excited to see you," he said, rubbing his side. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," I said. "Got pretty fucked up back there, huh?"

I laughed at the crazy memory. Marcus was not so cheery.

"Morgan," he said, softly. "I, um."

"What?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"About what?" I asked, genuinely.

"If it wasn't for—if I was there then maybe I could’ve—"

I raised my hand to stop him.

"Marcus, it ain't ya fault," I said. "So don't get all wimpy on me, okay?"

I repeatedly slapped him lightly in the face. He smiled and held my hand against his cheek.

"Thanks Morgan," he said, quietly.

"Hey, no problem, Marcus," I shrugged. “What are friends for?”

He nodded and let go of my hand.

"So what's the latest Marcus?" I asked. "Bring me up to speed."

"Well. shit's hit the fan outside I'm sure you've seen."

"Yeah, so what's up?" I yawned. scratching my back.

He groaned and sat down. I sat down in the booth across the table from him.

"Where to begin," he sighed, looking out the window. "Well if you were looking forward to that month's leave after you got out that I told you about last week, you're out of luck."

I slammed my fist onto the table.

"What?!" I shouted, wide-eyed and awake. "I was assured."

"Somethings we can’t change, Morgan,” He sighed.

“They just happen by chance,” I added. “Yeah, I get’cha.”

“I know it sucks. But we needed all the officers we could get, Morgan," he said. "The hurricane brought the city to a standstill so we need all the help we can get to get things under control. And with what's been happening with Long Island… there's a lot of work."

"Damn that Patterson," I sneered.

"Don't blame him, we've been given direct orders from the Police Commissioner. No unsanctioned days off until further notice. That's for all the precincts."

I groaned, leaning back onto my chair.

"But what about me? I just got out for fuck's sake. My legs are still like jello."

"I know, but we need everyone."

"So when do I start work again?" I cringed, afraid of his answer.

"Tomorrow."

"Fuck!" I groaned, sinking into the booth. "Just kill me now. Not even a day?"

"You'll be fine," he waved off.

He looked outside the window.

"Since the hurricane, the subway tunnels have been closed indefinitely. A lot of homeless are mucking about."

"How the hell am I going to get around? Gas is what? Eight bucks now? I ain't got the money to drive around."

"The government has given us a stipend for travel," he explained, handing me a plastic card with my picture on it. I was half asleep and picking my nose. “Besides, we'll have plenty to do around here"

"Like what?"

"We've got riot duty, tomorrow."

"So shields and visors?"

"Yeah."

I face-palmed and sighed loudly.

“I hate riot duty. Remember the July 4th fiasco last year?”

“Where Sanchez caught you eating a hot dog on duty, gear and all. Then that guy jumped the line and punched you?”

“Hey, he should’ve kept his big mouth shut,” I laughed. “alright?”

Marcus chuckled as well. Then he stopped and exhaled.

“I miss them,” he said, smiling a faraway smile.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Don’t we all. At least they don’t have to see their city like this.”

“Hey, at least their families moved out of New York before this shit hit the fan.”

“Yeah, one less thing to worry about. So why are we on riot duty?”

"Apparently. there's going to be a staged protest at the Great Lawn between Turtle Pond and the Station noon tomorrow."

"Who's protesting?"

"Patrick Jones and a bunch of Redeemer-sympathizers."

"The guys who blew me up?"

"The very same ones," he replied.

"Fuckin’ fantastic," I groaned, sarcastically folding my arms. "I guess it really is true what they say."

"What's true?"

"The only easy day was yesterday."

He nodded and took out a folder, pulling out a form.

"Here, take this."

"What is it?"

"A weapons acquisition form. We're being required to get new equipment."

"Hah? What's wrong with the stuff we have now?"

"It isn't up to the task at hand now. They don't want any mistakes so we're suiting up. There's a lot of nice stuff on there."

I looked at the pamphlet.

"Tactical shotguns? High-powered semi-autos? Fuckin’ assault rifles? Are they serious?" I asked.

"They are," he said. "With the craziness going around, who knows what the looters are armed with."

"Marcus, you're not serious, are you? The most we'll have to worry 'bout is some Saturday night specials, not some assault rifles."

"Tell that to the guy that blew you up or the National Guard in Long Island. The Brooklyn PD’s being outgunned. They've been dealing with fuckers with military-grade long rifles. They've lost three just the other day."

"Damn," I remarked, surprised. “What is this? Iraq?”

"Since I was certified while you were in the hospital, I got the Benelli M-Four. At least we'll have some firepower on our end if it comes down to it."

"A combat shotgun, jeez, you're making it sound like we're going to war."

"It’s everything but that, Morgan. We've had widespread looting never mind rapes and assaults since the hurricane so be on your toes. Central Park ain't like you remember, you should know seeing as you're here. So fill out that form. Pick what you want."

"Thanks but no thanks," I said, handing him the form. "I'll stick to what I got. Most of this shit is too big for me, anyway."

"You can't."

"Huh?"

He exhaled.

"Patterson found out of your unauthorized sidearm and he threatened to reprimand you. But under the circumstances, if you switch to one of the authorized ones or the ones on the form you'll be let off."

"What?" I snapped. "He went into my locker? What's wrong with my subcompact? Does he really expect me to use a Bushmaster with my build?"

“You have to.”

"Fine, give me a minute," I said. "But I ain't using a damn boomstick. I was already in the hospital for practically two months already. I don't need my shoulders busting out on me."

After a minute or two, I looked back up.

"I see they're upgrading us from the nine-mils."

"Ah huh, apparently the Bronx precincts are having dealings with guys in makeshift body armor."

"Okay, I guess I'll take the Thirty."

“I see.”

"Yup, a little bigger than my liking but similar enough to my Twenty-six."

"Really? Why not the Ruger Carbine? It seems more your size."

"Eh, I was never a fan of rifles," I said. "I'd rather have a holster than something slung over my shoulder. Actually, I'd rather not need to use it at all."

I grew silent and placed the filled out form onto the table. He must have seen my face because he sighed.

"Must have been hard, about that boy and girl."

"I'll manage," I said. "Takes too much energy to worry about shit so why bother? It ain't like me to worry 'bout anythin’, ya'know?"

He smiled at me.

"How about lunch?" He offered.

"Sure, what're we having?"

Just then a woman came out from the kitchen with two trays. It smelled awesome.

"Ah, Susan, just in time," Marcus said.

"Here you are," She smiled, placing a tray of open-faced sandwiches, meat I might add, and a nice hefty pint of lager. "Oh, Morgan, you're back. It's been awhile. I heard what happened."

Her gaze softened.

"Poor dear. Are you alright dear, your eye."

I looked down.

"Yeah," I curtly replied. “It’s nothing.”

She must have sensed my unusual quietness.

"But I'm glad to see you're alright."

I smiled back but when I looked at her I saw her face was grim.

"What's the matter, Susan?" Marcus asked.

"Oh, I guess I can't hide it from you two," She said. "With everything going on here, Kristoph and I are closing shop and going."

I stood up.

"What?! Y—You can't, where else am I gonna get these?" I said, frantically pointing at the sandwiches.

She placed her hand on my shoulder and I stopped.

"I'm sorry, Morgan. You've been my best customer and for that, I can't thank you enough. But I have to think about my family. They can't stay here. You know that."

I slouched and sat back down, devastated at the news.

“Yeah, I know.”

"Where are you moving to?" Marcus asked.

"We're thinking of staying with relatives upstate. Kristoph has already secured our travel papers so we're going at the end of the week."

"I see, well I hope it works out for you and your family, Susan."

"Thank you, Marcus," She said. "Since we're closing tomorrow, how about having your last meal here on the house?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay, thank you," Marcus said, turning to me. "I'm sure Morgan's happy for you, too."

"I am," I nodded, now able to speak. "I'm just sad this place has to go."

My hands were in my lap and I couldn't look her in the eye.

"To think you'd be this devastated by us closing means a lot, Morgan. It really does."

I nodded.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other someday. I doubt we’ll be away forever. I grew up here, after all. Every storm passes.”

With that, she left us.

* * *

 

Two hours had passed and the streets were getting a bit more active with street crews and workers yucking it up outside.

"They never really give you enough, do they?" I said, cleaning my teeth with a toothpick.

"Morgan that's the seventh plate you've had. Besides, they don't have much now."

"Anyway, I'm still hungry. Got anything else to eat?"

He tossed me a candy bar.

"Have at it."

As I opened the candy, I noticed someone walk into the cafe. It was Tasha. Marcus lit up like a candle.

"Honey, what are you doing here? What about the kids?"

"They’re with the Gonzales’s. I heard from Thomas that Morgan got out of the hospital and that you'd bee here," She said, turning to me and the table of stacked empty plates up to my nose. "I see she's fine."

"C’mon Tasha, like a car bomb's gonna stop me," I joked, waving her off. "It just goes to show that I'm bulletproof."

I leaned back and had my arms on the seat

"But you weren't just shot," Marcus said.

"Bombproof, too," I quickly corrected.

Tasha laughed then quieted down.

"I'm just glad you're fine Morgan, it would have been… very difficult to explain to the kids they couldn't see Auntie Corn Chips, anymore."

"Jeez, will they ever stop callin’ me that?" I laughed, leaning back. "I only ate them in front of them once."

"Morgan, we bought twelve bags for the Superbowl and you ate them all! You know how sad it looks to see bowls of salsa and no chips?"

"Eh, what'cha want, ya Jets fan."

"Okay, little Miss Giants."

I grinned at him, smugly.

"Anyway," Tasha, said, trying to cool our rivalry.

"Okay, mom," I sighed, exaggeratedly slow. "So you want to be a hero? Well, whoopty doo."

Tasha giggled as she sat on Marcus' table.

"How about tonight we all have dinner to celebrate Morgan's discharge? I'm sure Brianna and Kelly will love to see her again."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, honey," Marcus said, kissing her. "But I don't think we have enough food at home for her."

I faked a laugh.

"Go gag me with a sledgehammer," I joked, rolling my eyes. “You’s guys are gonna make me vomit.”

Marcus playfully kicked me.

"You're just jealous."

"We'll have to help her find someone, too," Tasha suggested. "It's only fair."

"Nah, I'll pass," I waved off.

"What about—" she whispered something into Marcus's ear. "He seems crazy over her."

"I did talk to him earlier. But he promised me not to tell her since he wants to take things slow on his own."

"Who?" I asked, surprised. "Who’s this wacko?"

"Never mind," They both said, teasingly.

I shot up.

"Oh come on! If there's a dude crazy enough to like me then spill it. C’mon. I don't mind going for the kill or if he goes first that's pretty hot, too. It's been my dream for a dude to like me back'. Come on tell me."

"No, I will not betray his confidence," Marcus shot me down in a posh tone.

"You's just pullin' my leg. There ain’t a guy, is there?"

I pouted and sat back down munching hungrily on my candy bar.

"Well, I should get going. I have to pick up the girls," Tasha said.

"Alright honey, I won't keep you. See you tonight," Marcus said, pecking on Tasha's cheek. “Stay safe and make sure to call me if anything happens.”

"Okay," she nodded, turning to me. "Come on over around six, okay? We'll have a nice pork roast ready for you."

I grunted in agreement. "Hmm, pork roast."

Tasha waved Marcus and I off, exiting the cafe. I turned to Marcus and he had a blissful look to him. I could practically see an aura of gag-inducing love around him.

"God you two are sickeningly lovey-dovey even after two kids and a mortgage."

"Shut up," he bemoaned. "Shouldn't you get back home? I gotta meet with Ian later."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. I guess I'm not needed here, after all," I faked sobbed.

"You really aren't."

"Well damn, Marcus, I see how it is."

He laughed and I joined in. He turned up the volume of the television. Turning around I found myself bombarded with flashes of protests and the yellow and black signs of quarantine.

"What that’s all ‘bout?" I asked.

"After they shut down and blockaded the bridges into Long Island, they've been having protests at the Long Island Clean Zones," he explained.

"Clean Zones? What the hell's that?"

"I’m sure you’ve heard about it. There's an outbreak of a nasty flu on Long Island so they've been setting up areas for civilians that have been tested negative of the disease. Those tents outside are for testing people here."

"Oh yeah! It's that shit that's making everyone go crazy, right?" I asked, excitedly snapping my fingers.

"Yeah, so all of Long Island is under, well, basically under quarantine. They set up military checkpoints on the bridges and shut down the Queens Midtown Tunnel," he said, rubbing his stubble. "They've been setting some up here, too."

"I see."

"We're supposed to be on the look out for the children that broke out of the hospital, as well. So far we found seven of them but the rest are still out there. Probably over on Long Island."

"Yeah, I know. More work," I moaned.

Standing up, we headed for the door.

"Oh, wait, Morgan, I almost forgot."

"What?" I asked, turning around.

"Take these," he said, handing me a plastic bag. “It’s dangerous to go alone.”

I snickered.

"Flu masks? What's this for?"

"Just a precaution," he said. "Be careful okay? I don't want you getting sick and going crazy."

"I'm already halfway there," I faked a psycho twitch.

He shook his head.

"I'm serious," he said, softly looking at me. "I almost lost you. I do not want to lose you for real this time. Once you get sick it's all over."

I stopped my fooling around and smiled. flushing.

"Thanks, Marcus."

"Anyway, do you want a lift home?" He asked. "There's a FEMA Humvee for PD officers by the station."

"Nah, I'll walk home. Got to get used to being outside, ya'know."

He did not smile but simply nod.

"Okay, make sure to text me when you get back home, okay?"

"Got'cha," I nodded, exiting the room.

"Best of luck to ya, Susan."

"Same to you," Susan said, waving me from the counter. “Stay safe out there.”

Heading back outside the cafe, I looked out across the street as another massive OD green-colored tent was raised next to the Reservoir. The logo of the US Army was plain to see. Marcus waved me off as he headed towards north the hospital. I head in the opposite direction. I furrowed my brow and walked off. My mind was troubled.

_"The city isn't like you remember."_

I guess it really wasn’t. A little while later, I turned onto Eighty-fifth street. I proceeded down back to my apartment. My face was frozen in a blank and bored stare as I headed home, down Eighty-fifth with the sounds of sirens in the distance. I looked back over my shoulder one more time at where dawn would appear tomorrow. Huge plumes of smoke billowed from across the East River. A few black helicopters flew overhead to the island and signs of warning and caution stuck from the ground. I turned around again and headed down the road, unsure of what tomorrow would bring. My hands were in my pockets. They were shaking. I really needed a smoke.

  



	16. The Changing World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been three months to the day since tragedy struck the Central Park Precinct with the mass murder-suicide in the Central Park Tennis Center. Now protests break out in New York’s Central Park between the belligerent factions of the Police and the enraged citizens of the city. For NYPD Officers Morgan and Marcus, things take a bad turn when emotions run high as deeper sickness begins to surface.

 

Menthols were always my favorite. Now that the wind was blowing west from Long Island, I could really use that minty taste. The air was bitter, despite it being the early morning and cool. The smell of burning shit from across the East River was hurting my head. I took a drag as I waited in the car for a certain someone. I looked out the window. My car was parked right outside of Marcus’s house. The towering trees and the brick city homes would have been relaxing three months ago. But now the green was making me woozy. At least the sun still had its warmth. The sparkle of the sun off the skyscrapers above eased my anxiety a little. I gave a quick, content huff as I turned back to exhale smoke, lowering the window a bit further. Only yesterday was I still eating pudding in the hospital and now I was heading to work again. I still felt stiff from lying in bed for the longest. I could have had a month off but no, this fucking outbreak or whatever was making everyone crazy. To think that if everything was as I wished it to be then I'd be at home eating snacks and playing video games. Cleaning the apartment yesterday was the absolute worst. The dishes that had piled up had a freaky pink mold growing on them so I had to throw them away along with most of my food. I'd have to go to the store after work. Or worse, I’d have to take a box of those ration bars they were giving away.

Finishing my cigarette and snuffing it out in the ashtray, I looked into the rear view mirror. I cracked my back as a flash of movement startled me. White hair, I was sure of it. My body froze. I jerked around, my hand on my holster. I broke out in a cold sweat. I waited and listened. The only thing I heard was the distant sound of traffic a few blocks away. I scanned the back. There was no one.

"Fuck!" I cursed, covering my face with my hands. "God dammit."

Was I still seeing things? It had been a while since I last had them. They were infrequent but when they did happen it freaked the living shit out of me. Living alone in a tiny studio apartment didn’t help, either. It wasn’t a good time when you woke up to see a monster at the foot of your bed. I wish I had someone to huddle next to when I was—what was I saying? I wasn't afraid. Spooked, yes, but not afraid. I breathed heavily, trying to contain my angst as I looked at the empty back seat. Then I heard my name being called out from beyond the passenger seat window. Unlocking the door, Marcus slipped in.

I shook that thought away and smiled a weak smirk, an indecisive one. I looked him over, nodding at his uniform blue same as mine. I looked myself in the mirror. I had cut my own hair last night to satisfactory results. Honestly, I just took a pair of scissors and cut the ponytail off. Now I had a chin-length bob cut with my long, side-swept fringe almost covering my left red eye. Hopefully, it would hide it so I wouldn’t have to explain it to every schmuck that asked. I guess it was true, wasn't it? Short hair is so much better. It was easier to maintain and for a lazy fuck like me, it was all I could ask for. It made my neck seem longer and slenderer, too. I smiled. I looked decent if I did say so myself.

"Got all ya stuff?"

"Yeah," he replied. “I think so.”

"What 'bout ya shotty?"

"It's at the station."

"And here I thought you were able to take your shotgun with ya home."

"With the kids around, hell no," he replied. “I don’t want them to be scared. Besides, my sidearm will do more than enough to protect them.”

“Let me know if anythin’ happens, alright?” I added, my tone lower and serious. “I’ll be there in a flash.”

He let out a low grumble in agreement, giving the smallest indication of an approving smile.

"How's Tasha?"

"She worries too much," he said, tired. "I said everything's going to be alright but she doesn't believe me."

"I see. Well, we can't change that."

He nodded.

"What time is it?"

"Six o'clock," I said, looking at the car's monitor.

"Alright then. Let's go."

Putting the car back into drive, I drew into the empty street. Leaves and grime covered most of the cars we passed. They weren't as lucky as us to have a government stipend for gasoline and so they were left unused. People were giving us angry looks as we drove by. I knew what they were thinking. Heading down the road, I turned on the radio to drive away this silence.

_ Body and beats I stain my sheets I don't even know why, my girlfriend she's at the end she is starting to cry, let me go on like I blister in the sun, let me go on, big hands I know you're the one— _

_ Despite the efforts of FEMA and the CDC, the cases of the strange bouts of violent psychosis have reached the critical threshold of one hundred and fifty thousand cases on Long Island. In an unprecedented decision, the President of the United States has declared a naval blockade of Long Island in light of recent smuggling runs of contraband and infected. This is in response after a meeting with federal officials on the future of the Long Island Crisis including military intervention. This has resulted in major protest movements through the country— _

_ Meanwhile, cases of psychotic incidents have grown with nine hundred violent altercations with government forces on Long Island since last week. The case is the same in Baltimore and Boston with a combined ten thousand reported cases of violence relating to the phenomena in the last month alone. _

_ If you or a loved one is suffering from flare-ups of asthma and your medication doesn't relieve your symptoms then Breathe Clear may help— _

" _ The Governor of New York has received enormous criticism for his declaration of—on Long Island—following the deadly bombing of the LaGuardia Clean Zone by Redeemer terrorists leaving thirty-eight dead. Following his decision, elements of the—” _

_ There have been confirmed cases of mass psychosis reported in Pittsburgh last night making it the twentieth city and the furthest west in nine states that have now reported the mysterious bouts of violence since late June. _

_ Pro-Russian forces have pushed into Kiev last night, taking control of the Ukrainian capital. NATO forces have continued to build along the Russian-Baltic States border preparing for a perceived Russian Invasion. As a result of the takeover of Ukraine by Russian-supported rebels, many have called for the ban of all Russian Nationals from the EU. _

_ Four National Guardsmen and three civilians were killed in a car bombing at the FEMA treatment center at Battery Park last night. Supposed members of the Christian militia, Shields of the Gospels have claimed responsibility for the attack in protest of the government's interference with the 'End Times'. Police are still searching for Father Francis Adamson and his followers following their escape from Manhattan Psychiatric Center last month— _

_ Well, I'd rather see you dead, little girl, than to be with another man. You better keep your head, little girl, or I won't know where I am— _

" _ Here we have Patrick Jones of the radio podcast, Data Wars and his entourage gathering at New York Public Library. Now Mister Jones, what is the plan for this demonstration?" _

" _ Well, Melissa, we're here in support of our fellow citizens imprisoned on Long Island by the Government with no lawful authority to do so. We're going to march to Central Park before they close it down completely and make another Clean Zone and show our voices to all our supporters across the nation and the world." _

" _ What are you planning on accomplishing today?" _

" _ We're hoping to bring awareness to the plight of our fellow citizens trapped with this infection who are being corralled into prison camps on the island. We are asking everyone that has family or friends on Long Island to join us and voice our frustration at the Government and their lackeys in blue. If nothing is done, I'm afraid that drastic means will be considered if our demands are not met." _

" _ And what are your demands?" _

" _ We want the ending of the Governor's declaration of— _

What a crock of horseshit. I felt an electrical jolt surge through me. I turned off the radio. Marcus must have felt my body tense in anger since he made a token shift towards the door. I exhaled, amused by his facetious fear. Turning onto Central Park West, we headed north to Eighty-fifth. There were almost no cars out except for emergency trucks and the occasional police cruiser and van. The sidewalks were still fairly occupied with people walking about, a lot less than before but at least there were people besides the emergency workers. Passing a National Guard Humvee, I turned briefly to Marcus. His face was downcast. He leaned against the window, looking out to the piles of debris and garbage still on the street. I turned back as we came to an intersection. I felt he was turning to me. I kept my gaze on the empty road.

"Somethin’ on ya mind?" I asked.

"Just thinking about Tasha and the girls. I’m afraid for ‘em."

I nodded in understanding.

"Everything'll be fine," I assured. "Tasha's certified and has a gun. Besides, she has ya."

I winked at Marcus and nudged him on the shoulder.

"My in-laws called me last night," he exhaled.

I groaned in sympathy, cringing at the thought. At least there were some things I wouldn't have to deal with as a perpetual bachelorette.”

"Ooh, what now?" I half laughed. "With everythin’ going on, it can't be good."

"They want Tasha and the girls to stay with them in Elizabeth," he said.

"Didn't Elizabeth have some psycho cases reported?" I asked.

"Yup," he said. "More than just a handful of 'incidents' since you were in the hospital."

"What d'ya think?"

"I think it'd be better if they stay here. With all the extra security here, it's a lot safer than there. Besides, it'd be easier for the kids."

I nodded.

"We better hurry. It’s almost time."

I turned back to the road. Turning right onto West Eighty-fifth Transverse, we entered Central Park. Down the street with the trees and workers lining the way, we were stopped by a man with an assault rifle. He was wearing a gas mask and full army gear and looked like he was more at home in the desert than Central Park. The street was blocked by a checkpoint and the car barrier was lowered. I stopped and rolled down my windows.

"Outta the way dude, we're headin’ to work."

"Sorry ma'am, since the Governor has placed New York City under lockdown I'm going to need to see some ID."

"Hah? Lockdown? What'd ya mean?"

He froze when he looked in my left eye.

I sighed, “It’s nothin’, okay buddy? Now, what is about a lockdown?”

"Long Island is under complete civil lockdown and Manhattan is under restricted travel protocol."

"Since when?"

"Since last night. No one unless prior authorized are allowed in the Central Park Clean Zone after the attack at LaGuardia. Police are no exception. This protest today will be the only exception."

"So they snuck that underneath our noses while we slept, eh? Look, buddy, just 'cause ya got a nice little shooter doesn't mean I take orders from ya, okay buddy? Okay."

I waved him off as I turned to Marcus.

"Ya here this guy?" I laughed, pointing "Who's he kiddin’?"

Marcus's face was grave.

"Huh?"

I turned my head around and found the barrel of his rifle in my face. Fucking shit! My voice was caught in my throat.

"Ohoho, okay buddy take it easy," I said, sheepishly.

"Hands where I can see them!"

I instinctively raised my hands. My breathing was heavy and strained and my body was tensed. Shit, my heart was beating a thousand miles an hour. I didn't think I'd have a gun pointed at me today.

"Your IDs, now!" He demanded.

He didn't need to ask me twice. I handed him my ID and his partner took Marcus's. After a few tense moments, the man gave us back our IDs.

"My apologies, Officer Morgan," he said. "We're just doing our jobs."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I waved him off, rolling my eyes. "Can we go now? We gotta job to do ourselves."

He nodded. The barricade was lifted and so we continued on. As we approached the Central Park Precinct Police Station, my annoyance from earlier returned. The parking lot was crowded all to hell, cars squeezed together like sardines.

"I hope my spot's still open," I said, groaning.

"Just fine any free spot," Marcus suggested.

"It's… fuckin’ dang it!" I snapped. "That damn Patterson's got his freakin’ pickup in it."

There were no spots at all. Giving the last of my fucks to that army dude, I parked on the grass. I doubt they'd tow my car given the circumstances. I didn't even know if there were still tow trucks. Pulling onto the grass beside the large oak, I set the car to park and turned off the engine. Getting out and grabbing my bag from the backseat, we headed to the main door. As I walked, I noticed eyes were on me. Two uniformed men with rifles stood by the entrance, giving Marcus and me no heed except a stray glance as I lazily swaggered into the building. Stepping through the doors, I was taken aback at the atmosphere. Central Park was once of the quieter precincts; at least, that was what it was like last time I went to work. We used to have crime in the park at a manageable level but now the wooded areas of Central Park were unsafe for anyone. The precinct also used to have plenty of officers and volunteers. Now it seemed as if our strength was weaker. It was probably from the interns quitting only to be replaced with a platoon of armed soldiers walking around. Who was going to heat my noodles for me now? The desks were no longer neat and organized but covered in with huge peaks of disheveled-sized reports; they reminded me of mine. Men and women dressed from suits to the uniform blues to the gray-tan National Guard ACUs were frantically and quickly pacing back and forth through the main atrium. There must have been a hundred or more people here. The entire scene was chaotic. When I stomped in loud enough for them all to hear me coming in, everyone stopped at least for a moment to look in my direction before returning to their work. For those faces that weren't new, they lingered. The looks of the guys were priceless.

"Shit it's Morgan!" I heard someone shout. "Holy crap!"

"Morgan you're alright!"

"Eh, Morgan!"

"Huh? Morgan?"

"Dude!"

"Yes, yes and more yes," I said, cockily extending my hands outward. "It's me, the one and the only. The bombproof bastard, the bullet sponge McGee, Mistress of Dynamite, Morgan Gray."

I flashed a boastful grin as I pointed back at the boys.

“God, you’re such a dork,” Marcus snickered under his breath. “One more lame nickname and I’ll gag.”

“Shaddup, ya damn borin’ baldie.”

“It’s shaven!” He growled.

"Great, it'll be a lot more bearable here," one officer remarked with a grin.

"Ahem?" One of the day shifters groaned. “And what about me?”

"Sorry Sue," her partner whispered.

"It's about time you came back," I heard a familiar voice say. “Ya lazy bum.”

A man with tousled brown hair and a wide grin greeted us.

"Thomas! Ay, what's up with‘cha?" I said, excitedly.

He high-fived me and smiled.

"Eh, well besides work piling on us like snow, nothing much. Glad you're back. What’s with the eye?”

The others nodded at his question.

“Just some weird side effect from the blast. Don’tcha worry about it.”

“Ah cool, anyway, we could really use you."

"I hope ya mean ya could really use my buddy over here," I joked, patting Marcus on the shoulder.

"Ay, you got to pull your own weight, too," Marcus scoffed.

"Until the world ends, never!"

Thomas laughed as Lockhart walked up to him, whispering into his ear. Thomas's smile faded and he quickly excused himself. I exchanged an understanding nod with Lockhart as they departed. I thanked everyone for their kind words then we crossed the lobby to the hallway where the offices were connected to. Crossing the packed atrium and turning down the hall to our office, I turned to Marcus.

"Man, everyone's busy," I noted. "More than usual. A lot of the nighters are still here."

"It’s been like this for the last few weeks. With the amount of crime going on in the city we need everyone."

"I'm surprised. You’s think with the army here things'd be a bit easier."

He nodded in agreement.

"There's a reason why they're called 'chocolate soldiers'. They run when things get hot."

I chuckled at his joke.

"Damn, Marcus, no chill," I laughed.

We continued down the hall, passing our fellow officers and the occasional buzz cut. Walking past a suit and a few nervous interns, we found our office. Entering the room, I sighed as I fell into my cushioned chair, glad to be sitting again. My desk was bare. I took my cardigan off and tossed it onto the desk.

"Suspenders? What are you, a suit?"

"Suspenders are cool, alright," I defended. "I saw this lady on TV last night and I thought I'd try it out.”

He laughed at me.

"Shit’s hit the fan and you’re still trying to look cool. Well good luck with that," he joked. "I'll be at the office first."

"Alright," I nodded.

He then headed out down the hall to the Squad's office. I turned on the television hanging on the top corner of the room.

" _ Due to the living conditions and the reduction of public services on Long Island, an outbreak of cholera has emerged within the populace. An estimated ten thousand have contracted the disease and thirteen reported deaths associated. Despite the request of Government officials towards the Long Island inhibits for safe passage of medical trucks to the affected residents, Looters have increased the number of violent and deadly attacks on FEMA medical trucks. As a result of this blatant disregard for the lives of FEMA workers and the sick civilian populace, the Governor has committed an additional five hundred National Guardsmen on a pure escort mission and authorized 'shoot-to-kill'. However, this has proven difficult to execute following the enormous criticism for his declaration of Martial Law following the deadly bombing of the LaGuardia Clean Zone by Redeemer terrorists leaving thirty-nine dead. Following his decision, elements of the Seventy-first Infantry Regiment and Sixty-ninth Infantry Regiment-First Battalion of the New York National Guard have been sent to augment the severely crippled police force in maintaining order in the designated Clean Zones of LaGuardia, JFK International Airport, Battery Park, Madison Square, Central Park and Yankee Stadium. The total number of National Guardsmen have now totaled thirty-five hundred." _

"Hah? Martial Law?" I asked, aloud. "What the fuck?"

Holy shit those conspiracy nuts were on to something now. To think they'd actually put Martial Law into effect here. That Jones guy was going to have a riot with this shit. For people like him, this declaration of a suspension of habeas corpus was going to make him sound like some kind of prophet. I groaned as I left the television on, paying no attention to it. Getting up, I went to the women's locker room down the hall. Putting my gym bag and my other belongings into the locker, I exchanged my clothes for my uniform. It was a lot tighter than I remember, at least around my chest and hips. Was I getting curvier? I snorted at the absurdity. Since my hair was no longer as long as it was, I didn't need to tie it up. I put on the patrol cap, exiting the room. I headed down the hall to the Squad office. Entering the room, I found the rest of the squad. Surprisingly enough, Patterson did not greet me with shouting or names but with a soft nod.

"Welcome back, Morgan," he said. "Glad you came out in one piece. I was beginning to consider a replacement."

"Aah, thanks, Pat," I cooed back, flicking my wrist. “Ya do care.”

"Glad you're back," Wong said.

"Took a hell of a hit back there, huh?" Damon added, slapping me on the shoulder a little too hard.

Taylor and Carlson both gave me warm grins.

“Welcome back,” Taylor curtly nodded, ruffling his blond hair.

"Nice to see you're fine," Carlson smiled.

"She's late so you know she's fine," Gonzales joked, nudging me.

"Haha, you're right, if she got here early then you know the coma did her in," Rogers remarked.

"Okay, settle down now," Patterson said. "We've got a lot of work to do and we don't have a lot of time."

"So what's the plan for today?" Marcus asked.

"I got your email that we're on crowd duty," Taylor added.

Patterson sighed.

"Everyone gather around the table."

We all stood around the conference table with a map of Central Park on it. A few plastic models were on it, blue for us and red for the protesters, white for civilians and green I'm guessing for the National Guard.

"That Jones asshole and his followers are going to demonstrate on the Great Lawn in the next few hours. Under the circumstances now we'd have stopped them but since the Police Commissioner doesn't want this place boiling over, he's having this ‘little event’ act as a pressure valve. You know, let a little steam out so exercise restraint."

We nodded.

"Okay. We're gonna get around sixty-thousand people marching on us from Lower Manhattan. Most of them will be yuppies so it won't be too bad. But stay vigilant. I got word from the Captain that there’ll be actual Redeemers mingling in the crowd so be careful."

"How many officers will we have?" Rogers asked.

"We'll have about three thousand officers from the Twentieth and Twenty-sixth at the southwest, the Eighteenth at the south, Nineteenth southeast, Twenty-fourth northwest, Twenty-third in the northeast and us and the Twenty-eight managing the north perimeter of the protest area."

"I see," Rogers nodded, fiddling with his stubble. "A twenty to one margin."

"Nothing we can't handle," Damon remarked. “I just hope we won’t have any terrorist attack.”

“The FBI’s been watching closely. The likelihood that something like that happening is very low,” Patterson said. “But stay on your guard. We don’t want any hiccups.”

“You serious? I don’t know about you but I’m not very comfortable fighting off twenty angry protesters,” Wong retorted.

“C’mon, Wong. Just use your kung fu,” Damon teased.

Wong gave a sour look that quickly turned to stifled laughter.

"We'll also have a few hundred National Guardsmen mixed in as well," Patterson said.

Damon smirked.

"So what' are our positions, Pat?"

"We're going to split into two teams. You, Wong, Taylor, and Carlson, will be positioned at the far west wing of our position along West Drive with myself and squads two and six. Gonzales, Rogers, Marcus, and Morgan, you four are assigned to help the North section with squads three and eight and hold them south of the pathway. Stay on your best behavior, the camera crews will be posted right behind you. Keep Jones in sight at all times. We don't want them to wander outside of the security zone"

We nodded and saluted him.

"Yes, Sir!"

"Alright, dismissed. We're expecting them to start around ten."

Nodding, Marcus and I walked out first with the rest of the squad following.

"Patterson. You seem off today. Everything alright?" Wong asked, fixing his cap.

Patterson sighed, scratching his salt and pepper hair.

"I had my family stay with my in-laws in Providence. They'll be safe since there's an army unit stationed there but I'm scared for them."

Scared? Patterson? This was unheard of.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Wong replied.

Patterson smiled, sheepishly.

Stepping out into the hallway, I heard Gonzales call for me.

"Where you heading?" he asked.

"I got to get my new piece," I said. “It’s in the armory.”

"Ah, what'd you order?"

"The Thirty," I said. "I would've stayed with my Twenty-six but no, Old Pat had to shove regulation down my throat."

"This wouldn't have happened if you just followed protocol," Patterson said, defensively from within the room.

Gonzales laughed, "for a pipsqueak like you, I'd be worried you'd blow yourself off your feet."

"Can it, Gonzales," I smirked.

"We'll head out first then, meet you guys on the line," Rogers smiled, placing his cap over his ruffled brown hair.

"See you in a bit," Marcus nodded.

"Morgan! Hustle up! We need that barricade here now!"

"Quiet ya face, ya big oaf!" I shouted back, lugging a heavy metal crowd control barrier. "Look at all these big muscle dudes and no one's helpin’ me."

"Just 'cause you're a girl doesn't mean we gotta pamper you,” one officer joked.

“What about ‘girls can do anything?’ Eh, Morgan?”

"That'd be fine if ya ever helped me in the first place!" I exclaimed, tripping over my own feet.

"Morgan we've seen you suplex Big Donnie during strength training, you don't need our help."

"I see how it is. If it was Shelly or Mika, hell, even Bridget, you'd all be 'let me help you with that' but when it's me you’s guys wouldn't even dare ask," I groaned.

"You'd probably eat those barricades for breakfast," Marcus teased. "You got this."

I rolled my eyes, angling the barrier in place with the rest.

"Phew, there. I would have thought a ‘short stack’ like me would have garnered some sympathy."

The men laughed heartily, patting me on the back.

“This is why we love ya, Morgan!” an officer joked. “Doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

Others joined in the laughter.

“Eh, shove it,” I waved them off, tired. “You’s all nothin’ but a buncha brutes.”

“Ah, is Morgan upset?”

“Shaddup, If I was a bit taller I’d whoop ya,” I mock threatened.

“If you could reach up he.”

Marcus smirked, tossing me a bottle of water. I gave him an exhausted smirk as I caught it upside down. Turns out it was halfway open. The bottle opened and spilled all over me, soaking me in the cold brisk liquid.

“Kyaah! Dammit Marcus!” I scowled, shivering from the freezing cold water. “Look what’cha did.”

"What's this? Morgan's in a wet T-shirt contest?" Thomas called out.

"Shuddup," I laughed, tossing the empty bottle at him. “This ain’t Cancún.”

Exhaling and cracking my back, I leaned and slid down an Army Humvee parked on the grass.

Marcus sat down beside me on the grass. He was snickering at his little joke.

“Jerk,” I pouted.

"You alright?"

"Just need a breather," I said. "I spent my day's reserves just now."

"It's only nine-forty. They’re starting to gather in mass."

“I don’t care. This whole thing’s a bore.”

“Not a fan?”

“Nope. I could’ve been at home shooting mooks on Alizar but no. I gotta stand here in the bakin’ sun with garbage rottin’ everywhere and a buncha mooks yuckin’ it up over there.”

I turned towards the gathering mass of protesters murmuring amongst each other. For the past three hours, they’ve been increasing in number and noisiness. They were about a soccer field away. I frowned.

“I wish I was at home.”

“Don’t we all,” he sighed.

He turned to me, looking at me in silence before looking to the sky. “Today’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” I sighed. "Looks like the show's 'bout to get started."

"Looks like it. C’mon. We need to get in gear."

I stood up, apprehensively, and followed Marcus to the back of the Humvee. A soldier was sitting in the back smoking a cig.

"Ay buddy, mind if I snatch one?"

He turned to me with a bored look and handed me the pack. A Reds kind of guy, eh? Well, he was a big-looking dude so it was expected. Not my favorite but I wasn't complaining. I took out a cig and he graciously offered a light. I grinned, toasting him with the cigarette. He nodded and took back his pack.

"Morgan you know you're not supposed to smoke on duty."

I waved Marcus’s concern off as he handed me my shield and helmet.

"Want me to punch someone?"

He shook his head.

"Exactly. Let me live my life," I sobbed, facetiously. “I only got one!”

As soon as I finished the cigarette, I heard the droning of the masses reaching our position. News crews were everywhere from the local stations to the big guys. What made it tiresome for me was the fact that most of the news crews decided to set up shop right behind our line, the north section. They were snapping photos, grabbing interviews and just constantly in your face. This was like a damn photoshoot. So most of the prominent protesting would be where we were, huh. That wacko Jones would be right in front of us. I heard a blow horn from one of the armored trucks and it made me flinch. I dusted myself off and grabbed the armored vest. It was like a lead apron on me. I wouldn't be able to run in this, let alone do much else. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blonde-haired woman in a skimpy-esque dress and microphone rushing to me. Her cameraman quickly followed. Shit, please be for someone else, please be for—

“Officer Morgan! Officer Morgan, over here.”

I groaned and turned to the voice. Marcus chuckled, walking away to our position.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“My name is Linda Blake with New York One. I know this is a bad time but can you please give us a few minutes of your time?”

“Eh, what ‘bout my partner?” I asked, desperately pointing to Marcus. “Marcus is way more knowledgeable on whatever it is you’s wanna interview on.”

Marcus’s back was to me. Hearing me speak, he looked over his shoulder at me.

“Huh? Me, eh, she asked you, Morgan,” he retorted.

“Ah, c’mon, Marcus. Help a fella out here,” I begged, extending my arms.

“Oh, really? You want my help?” He asked, sarcastically. “I don’t know, Morgan. I’m just a boring baldie. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

I pouted.

“Traitor.”

“C’mon. Aren’t you the great bullet-sponge McGee?”

“Ah, fine, ya big oaf,” I groaned, turning to the woman. “I guess. Fine, go ahead.”

“Okay, wonderful. Bruce, are you ready?”

The cameraman nodded raising the camera and signaling her to go ahead. Marcus walked off towards the front of the Humvee, winking at me as he left me with the reporter. I sighed and turned back to the woman, giving an unnaturally wide and awkward grin. My shoulders were stiff as the woman signals for the cameraman to go live.

“Hello, this is Linda Blake with New York One. I am here at Central Park just behind the police barricade as they prepare for an exceptionally heated protest by Redeemer-sympathetic residents of Manhattan. With me is Officer Morgan, remembered for her role in the taking down of the infamous Insurgo Cult five years ago and for her bravery two months ago where she risked her life to save innocent lives during the Plaza Hotel Bombing.”

The camera turned to me. I gave an awkward smile and waved.

“Um, hello,” I said, shyly.

I didn’t like being on camera and to think that people were watching made me nervous.

“So Officer Morgan, what exactly is the plan for today?”

“Well, we’ve been ordered to maintain our line here as these protesters do whatever it is they’re plannin’ on doing.”

I rubbed the back of my head. Great answer, Morgan.

“We’re expectin’ Redeemers to be mixed into their ranks so we’re on our toes but hopefully, this demonstration will be uneventful. We’re just here to keep the peace.”   
“Now it has been understood that the attack that left you in the hospital was an attack by Redeemer sympathizers. What is your opinion on them and their grievances?”

“Well, I guess ya could say we ain’t on speakin’ terms,” I said, laughing nervously.

“Thank you, now in regard to your eye. I’m sure our viewers will be asking. Mind sharing? Is that a result of your injury?”

“My eye?” I asked. “Oh, yeah, apparently it’s some kind of side effect from the blast. It doesn’t affect my sight but it does get me a few curious glances, hahaha!”

“I see so—”

Suddenly, I heard my name being called.

“Morgan! Get’cha ass over here, we need help!”

I spun around.

"C’mon!" Marcus shouted, running towards the barricade. “We’re forming the line now.”

"Right," I groaned, turning back to the reporter. “I have to go. Let’s finish this another time, okay?”

“Oh, but just one more question.”

“Ah, okay, what is it?”

I felt off all of a sudden. My body was swaying slightly; I felt lightheaded. Then I realize something. The sounds of chatter and activity around us were muffled now. It was as if I had earmuffs on. They were distorted and obscured. My vision too became distorted in places, swirling like looking into a bottle. The reporter cleared her throat and looked into my eye. I furrowed my brow at this. Her expression had changed ever so slightly. It was analytical. Suddenly, black veins formed under her skin and she leaned forward. I froze and my face stretched to a horrified expression. Her eyes became completely black as black bile fell from her lips. She lunged at me and I gasped, stepping back but not fast enough. She gripped me by the collar and lifting me into the air. She opened her mouth and I saw rows of fingers in her mouth where teeth were supposed to be. Suddenly, a head budded out of her mouth, a sickeningly deformed fetus’s face like if it had melted slightly. The figure jerked forward until the grotesque form was barely an inch from my face. The baby’s eyes opened to reveal little mouths were its eyeballs should have been. My body was stricken with paralysis; I shut my eyes. It opened its mouth and spoke.

“What is Man’s fate if not death?

My voice was caught in my throat. The baby’s voice, it was monstrous and unnaturally deep. I blinked. Opening my eyes, I felt sweat pour down my face. As quickly as it began, it stopped. This fiend of a woman, this monster was no long gripping me but a good three feet away where it had been before. I was standing as I was, untouched. The sound returned around us and the woman’s face was perfectly normal. No blood, no black eyes, no fetus tongue, nothing. It was in my head. She looked at me with a concerned look. I could tell it was genuine.

“Officer Morgan? Did you hear me?”

“Hah?” I gawked, stepping back. “W—What was it again?”

She smiled.

“I was asking what are your summer plans? The weather’s going to be gorgeous next week.”

It took a bit for it to fully register but then my voice came back.

“Oh, me? Well, I, uh, I’ll probably, well, you know, go out to the park or the zoo. That sort.”

“I see,” she said, smiling awkwardly at my response. “Well, thank you, Officer Morgan.”

I gave an awkward half-smile scratching my cheek.

“Well, I, ah, gotta go help my friend now. See ya.”

“Of course, thanks again, Officer Morgan,” she said, turning back to her cameraman to interview someone else.

I nodded to her before rushing back to the line. My heart was tearing at my chest. That just was a—what the fuck just happened? Did I just hallucinate? But it was so real. Her face, it was bleeding black blood and, and her voice it was—I clenched my eyes shut and took several deep breaths. I looked up. Seeing people around made me feel a little more at ease. Finding myself somewhat calmer, I gripped my riot shield and put the helmet on over my cap. I shivered and tried to find the strength in my legs. I walked, sheepishly, to the line. Standing beside Marcus and Thomas, I sighed, weighed down by my gear and my uneasiness. After a good five minutes, I finally found myself back to normal with a well-needed exhalation.

"I'm bored. Can we go home already?" I asked, picking my nose.

"First off can you not pick your nose?"

"Fine."

"We're just here to keep this perimeter solid. Nothing else so it isn't too strenuous, okay? We don't engage the protesters. We are here to keep them here and not wander off."

"Sounds a lot easier when there aren't thousands of them!"

I turned from Marcus, pointing to the horde of people before us.

“Dammit, go home, ya just makin’ a ruckus!” I shouted.

Marcus smacked me upside the head.

“Quit it, I don’t want any more attention drawn to us than you so shut it.”

I groaned, spinning my shield like a baton as the crowd stopped barely twenty feet in front of us. I couldn't even hear myself breathe it was so loud. Everyone was shouting, screaming and cursing at us. I wish I brought my headphones; they were so noisy. At least this helmet was muffling them a bit. This would be a long day.

About an hour had passed. Nothing much had changed, various leaders of the protesters came up with megaphones spewing their garbage at us, inciting the crowd to recite lame chants. Social justice warriors and college activists went on in shrill voices about how we were the problem and blah, blah, blah. I didn’t care enough to listen. Banners and signs were being waved around and I felt like clocking a few of them but I had to control myself. It was very hard to; they were pissing me off to no end, especially the anti-vaxxers. Suddenly a car drove up to us from within the crowd with the one and the only Patrick Jones standing atop it wearing a “don't’ tread on me” T-shirt. I had to roll my eyes at the blatant cliche. The crowd was going wild with his presence.

The crowd chanted. "Pigs in blue! Pigs in blue!"

Jones was handed a megaphone from someone from the crowd.

"Citizens of New York! Why are we here?"

"To stop the Occupation!"

"Why are we here?!"

"To take back our rights!"

"Who do we stand with?"

"Long Island!"

"That's right! Our fellow citizens are being imprisoned and killed on Long Island by an illegal military occupation. Their constitutional rights have been taken and we will not stand idle in the face of tyrants!"

He turned around back to us.

"Officers of the NYPD, there are good among you. Stand down and go home to your families," he commanded. "Think for yourselves. For there is a special place in hell for those that remain complacent in the face of injustice."

"Hah?!" I gawked. "What'cha blabbing on 'bout?"

"Shuddup Morgan," Marcus shooed.

"I ain't got no family," I whispered, jokingly. "Can I go home, too?"

"There is no war on Long Island. Tell the Army to go home! Open your eyes and see the truth. Your government is lying to you. There ain't no war on Long Island!" 

The crowd cheered him on, shouting and jeering indiscernible chatter.

"We will not rest! We will not stop and we will not give up until our people are free and the army leaves our homes," he said. "Water has been cut; electricity has been cut. How do you expect the people of Long Island to live?!"

He sneered at us and motioned for someone in the crowd.

"Bring it out!"

A large wood crate was lifted onto the hood of the car.

"That's a box of antibiotics!" One officer shouted.

"That's for the cholera patients! They stole them!"

"Huh?" I snapped, looking up from my feet. "The fuck are you doing?! People need those!"

Marcus punched me in the shoulder.

"Shuddup! Don't engage them."

"We will not allow the government to poison our people for their own profits!" He shouted back. "This 'medication' is the same garbage that's causing this sickness across the globe. Big Pharma has no place in our bodies!"

Damn anti-vaxxers!

“Arrest the police. More pigs! More pigs! Arrest the police!”

"Poison blood, poison minds, we won't take this treason!" The crowd chanted over and over.

He was handed a baseball bat and women were shouting and cheering like fucking hungry dogs.

"Poison blood, poison minds, we won't take this treason!"

The fucker was going to smash those meds! We had to stop them. But we couldn't. What the fucking shit were they thinking?! People were dying over there because these nitwits were attacking the medical trucks providing for these same people these pieces of shit were claiming they were representing. Fuck them! These guys pissed me off so much. First, they blew me up and tried to kill me, hurting innocent people because they got all prissy at big brother. Now they were smashing valuable medicine. I clenched my nightstick. Then all of a sudden, I began to feel funny, like I was nauseous or lightheaded. Then a throbbing feeling in my skull began. My legs buckled as I tried to make it stop but it wouldn’t. Something in me awoke and I began to snarl quietly like a dog.

He threw the crate onto the grass right in front of us. Photographers were snapping shots which felt more like a photo shoot than a protest. He jumped off the car and walked over to us. His followers followed behind and were throwing rocks at us. The rocks made contact with our shields and we had to back up slightly. However, I stayed put by the barricade so he chose me as his target of his stupid show. He was right within arm’s reach.

"This is for the children," he said, irritatingly softly.

He raised the bat and smashed into the glass jars of medication, splashing me with antibiotics. I got soaked in it. My visor was covered by the liquid and my eyes were wide in shock. I looked down onto the ground as they cheered and whooed. My fist gripped my nightstick tight until I could feel my knuckles turn white.

"Down with oppression, down with corruption! Poison blood, poison minds, we won't take this treason!" The crowd chanted. "Poison blood, poison minds, we won't take this treason!"

I snapped, tearing off my mask. My face was scrunched up in anger as I revealed myself, red-faced.

"Ya fuckers are cheerin’ on the little shits that are killin’ people!" I snarled. “Ahh!”

I didn’t recognize my voice, it was raspy and laden with a venom of hatred. My body was burning and stiffened as I dropped my shield and craned my neck down to the ground like a sick dog. My fingers were twisting and fidgeting. I pressed my hand on my head. It was throbbing. Loud and angry voices roared in my skull. It was as if everyone here was in my head, their voices tearing at my skull.

“Morgan? Are you okay? What’s—”

"You hear that?" Jones said aloud. "Lies, lies, lies in blue. Lies in blue!" He spurred on the crowd. "We all knew they lie in blue!"

I puffed out my chest. My eyes looked up and I was sure my eyes were searing in hatred. I raised my gloved fist. I felt a sudden energy enter me, emitting from behind my left eye and heart. People often say they see red when enraged. Now I know what that meant. I was seeing the world in hellish red and the sounds of voices distorted like a dying record player. I felt like a sponge sucking up everything anyone was saying at this moment. I was drowning in a sea of voices. It was confusing and enraging. Everything around me became inconsequential except the man before me. His face began to melt into a grotesque abomination, a pale snickering face with deformed slit eyes and a toothless crooked mouth. I screamed and snarled like a possessed animal, enraged by this abomination before me. I knew it was a hallucination but this mere sight of this… pale man made me want to literally kill him.

"Oi! Fucker!" I shouted.

He turned around.

"Wake up stupid Sheep. Baaaaa! Can't you see the truth? I know it's painful to see but you need to educate yourse—"

I had enough. I smashed my fist into his face, sending him back a good few feet. I could feel his nose crumpling under my armored fist. Suddenly, I felt as if all inhibition had left me, chains smashing and falling to the floor. I cackled uncontrollably and my eyes widened in a primal excitement. I was free. The people around me backed away in surprise as I felt their eyes on me. Distorted voices called out to me but I paid no heed. In my vision, black tendrils were snaking into view from my perprehial like camera vignetting. Where is he? Where is that man!? Seeing him, I smiled. It was time to finish it. I leaped high into the air like a rocket. The crowd grew silent as I bared my teeth. They felt sharper and stronger as a wide grin of rage etched on my face. I dove downward like a kamikaze and slammed into the pale man. He elicited a croak as he fell onto his back. I was straddling him now. I raised my fists and smashed them repeatedly into the fucker's monstrous-looking pompous face. One fist then another and another and another! Hahahahahaha! So much fun!

“Does he fear her?!” I asked, my voice cackling.

My eyes were wide and empty as I punch again and again and again until his face was red blood, delicious blood. My mouth was open in a wide grin, salivating as I lowered my head to whisper in his ear.

“What is Man’s fate if not death?”

He whimpered as I laughed. Tears began to ooze from his broken face as I stood up, triumphant. I cackled in a crazed manner as I felt my eyes widened in an uncontrollable rage. I grabbed him by his collar and tossed him, sending him back into the crowd. His groupies caught him and the world was set ablaze with the photographers taking snaps of me clocking this fucker in the face. I didn't care. I stood in a fighting pose, my arms outstretched and my hands bared like claws. There was a rippling feeling at the top of my skull like when water is poured on it. The hair covering my left eye began to grow lighter until it was… white. The feeling of sending this piece of shit flying felt so good, this rage burning in my veins in a pleasurable means. My body was on fire. I need more. As I was about to rush the protesters, I felt familiar arms grapple me by my waist, dragging me back to the line. The hair covering my left eye began to darken again until it returned to charcoal by the time I felt the metal of the fallen barricades beneath my feet.

“What are ya doin’? Let me at ‘em! I need more! More! More! Give me more!”

My voice was hoarse and animalistic. I squeezed my eyes shut as I shook my head to the side, wiggling to get free. Sudden I felt a fist clock me in the face. A flash of white burned into my vision. I was seeing stars. Shaking my head and feeling the throbbing man in my cheek, I opened my eyes. What happened? Where was I? I looked up. The distorted voices disappeared and I was left in shock as I saw who did it. Marcus had punched me. His face was pained. The distortion of sound disappeared like when one breaches the surface of the water and the world was filled with sound again, loud voices and flashing of camera lens. The pain in my eye vanished and the fire in me dissipated as I felt suddenly empty.

“Marcus? Wha—What happened?”

Then the rocks and bottles began flying and the screams against me. What was going on? Marcus dragged me back by my collar.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Marcus snapped, dragging me back as a beer bottle barely missed our heads. "What did I say? You fucking idiot!"

The other cops formed a shield wall to protect us as I was dragged behind their line. Then I heard the crashing of the barricades as the protesters charged.

"Hold them!" I heard an officer shout.

The sound of bodies and riot shields colliding blasted through the air. I fell to the ground and looked up. Reporters stuck their cameras in my face and flashed, stunning me.

"Get those cameras out of my fucking face!" Marcus shouted, swatting them away.

He threw me to the ground behind a Humvee. His face was in genuine anger. He grabbed me by the collar and shouted.

“What the fuck, Morgan? What happened back there?!”

I was speechless, frowned and on the verge of tears. I didn’t recognize this man. I shrank and rose my shoulders defensively. He was… so angry.

“I—I don’t know. All’s I remember is Jones smashin’ the bottles then all of a sudden you’s carryin’ me away,” I said, more of a whimper.

He exhaled sharply. He lowered his head, his hands still on me.

“I—I, my body moved on its own, I guess,” I uttered.

“They’ll fucking have your badge for this,” he uttered, looking up.

His face was the same as mine, afraid. His face looked so sad.

“I,” I cried, losing all energy in me. “I know.”

I lowered my eyes and grabbed my shield and helmet, absentmindedly. I felt apprehensive as photographers flashed their cameras at me. All I could think of was what the captain would say to me. Covering my face with the dirty visor, I tried to ignore the feeling of eyes on me.The line was engaged. People were trying to jump over the officers only to be knocked down and dragged to a detainment truck. I ran to the line as an officer was shanked by a bitch wearing a fedora and flamboyant dress. I smashed my baton into her face and dragged her to another officer before running back to the line. Fucking shit, I screwed up. This was all my fault. Now people were getting hurt. I dragged the wounded officer to another who helped him into an awaiting ambulance.

"Morgan I need you over here," Marcus shouted, pulling a woman off the Humvee.

The crackle of tear gas and rubber bullets pierced the air as white smoke billowed up from the screaming crowd. I ran to Marcus.

"What is it?"

"Over there," he pointed. "They dragged an officer into the crowd. We need to get him."

I nodded and followed his lead as he brought two extra guys with us.

"Shields on me!" He shouted.

We rushed into the crowd in a wedge, pushing the protesters back. It was pure chaos. Some of the crowd, the Redeemers I assumed, were engaging the police with shanks, baseball bats and anything else. The line was a mess. I mentally slapped myself for my impulsiveness. A news chopper hovered overhead kicking up dust and debris making it hard to see. As soon as the officer was in my visuals I felt off. There was a dude on top of him. He was struggling with the officer, clawing at him. It looked like… it looked like he was trying to bite him. What the hell? I barreled through the crowd and kicked the man on top of the officer off and grabbed him by his collar. Another officer grabbed the downed officer and we quickly retreated as tear gas canisters were thrown into the crowd. The man I was holding struggled violently but I was able to handcuff him as soon as we reached our line. I threw him onto the ground.

"Take… hah… him to the station," I wheezed bracing my hands on my thighs.

More police arrived and the massive crowd began to rout and disperse as water hoses and tear gas blasted the protesters back. I was catching my breath when I heard my name. It was like a whip cracking in the air.

"Officer Morgan, in the captain's office, now!" An officer shouted, angrily.

Fuck. I was so done.

"What in the Sam hell were you thinking," the Captain chided, leaning over his desk. "Punching Mister Jones of all people. You nearly caused a city-wide riot! Six officers are in the hospital and over a hundred people are in jail because of what you did."

I cringed as he shouted at me. I didn't say anything; My gaze was glued to the ground. It was all I could do.

"I could have you fired for this," he threatened.

"I know, sir," I said, looking at my feet forlorn. "I just lost it when he smashed the medicine. I don’t remember what happened after that. He was risking the lives of all those sick people on the island."

"And you risked the lives of your fellow officers here," he retorted.

"I know," I said, crestfallen.

I just wanted to shrink into a hole and never come out. It felt like I was in the principal’s office.

"I know your sentiments, Morgan. You've been a valued member of this precinct. You helped stop Insurgo and for that, the city will be eternally grateful. However, you were out of line here and got people hurt as a result of your actions.” he said. “Hell will have to be paid to appease these pro-Redeemer folks from inciting violence against us. We need all the officers we can get but we also can't have the people down our throats more than normally. Until I get a recommendation of a course of action from the Commissioner, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to suspend you, without pay,"

My eyes widened. I looked up.

"For how long?" I asked, shaking.

"I don't know yet," he said. “At least two weeks, probably a month.”

He sighed, "I'm also going to have to fine you for this as well. I talked to Patrick Jones's lawyer on the phone and he'll be amiable with a fifteen hundred dollar settlement for his injuries and an apology letter."

I clenched my fist.

"Fifteen hundred dollars?!" I shouted. "I can't pay that. I was in the hospital for two months for cryin’ out loud."

"I don't know what to tell you, Morgan. Just do what you can," he said. "I don't want this to end up as a lawsuit against the precinct and I certainly don't want this causing rioting. We've already spent our limit."

I was about to speak but then I stopped myself, swallowing my words.

"Can I leave now?" I asked.

"Not yet, turn in your sidearm and your badge, Morgan," he said, pointing to my holster.

I froze, wide-eyed.

"You can't be serious."

"I am. Don't make this harder than it needs to be," he said, looking into my eyes.

His face was aged and somber. This feeling, those eyes of disappointment reminded me of that one day, only, this time, I didn't have my luggage nor was the taxi awaiting me. I looked down, unpinning the shiny metal badge from my shirt and placed it on the table. I tucked my lower lip behind my upper, attempting to stifle tears in my eyes. My heart hurt as I gently evened it with the wood edge.

I gritted my teeth, unclipping my gun and putting it on the table.

"And my off-duty piece?"

"You can keep that," he said, graciously. “It’s dangerous out there and I wouldn’t want you out there defenseless.”

"I see," I uttered.

"Look," he said as he took them in his hand. "I need to do what's best for the precinct. You can have these back when your suspension’s over."

I turned and headed for the door.

“Oh, and Morgan.”

I stopped at the threshold of the door. I looked over my shoulder but kept my gaze on the ground.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you for beating the shit out of him,” he said, a small sympathetic smile on his face. “This’ll pass. I'm sorry, Morgan.”

"Yeah, me too," I whispered, exiting the room.

I closed the door behind me and just stood there. The hall was empty and the orange light of the sunset set the whole place in a palette of orange. I needed a smoke but I was out. I'd have to go to the store when I headed home. No, I couldn’t. I’d probably get jumped. Fucking dammit. The image of me punching that Jones in the face came to mind. I kicked a waste basket and growled in anger as I stomped down the hall towards my office, tears threatening to fall. But I wouldn't let them. I thought of today's events: the drive, the protests, the sneering assholes, and the hell that erupted from me punching Jones in the face. Fifteen hundred dollars? Are they for real? I could have used that money on that new gaming desktop or that new tool set I saw before the hotel bombing. Turning a corner, I found myself at the squad offices. After a few minutes down the crowded hall, I found our office. I stopped at the open door. Sighing, I entered the room to find Marcus working on some form.

"Yo," I said, raising my hand, weakly.

"Hey," he said, flatly. "How did it go?"

"I've been suspended. Not sure when or if I'll be back," I said, forcing my usual bored tone.

He sighed and laid the form on the table. Exhaling, he leaned back in his chair. He looked up to the ceiling and crossed his arms behind his head.

"After a day, damn," he said. “And after two months of you gone, I’m out of a partner again. Better start looking for a new job."

I scoffed at the joke.

"I heard there's plenty of positions with the city cleanup teams," I said, half-joking.

"You're not going to be fired," he assured. "Others have done way worse, believe me."

"Oh and I gotta pay that fuckface fifteen hundred bucks!" I exclaimed. "Ha, perfect. Just fuckin’ fantastic!"

I walked to my desk and sat down. After a few moments of silence, I turned my head to my lap.

“Maybe I should’ve never left my hometown,” I whispered. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

“Nonsense,” Marcus retorted.

I flinched and turned to him.

“You’ve been on the force for five years, Morgan,” he said. “You stopped the Insurgo cult, you stopped that man from killing those people back in the hotel. I don’t know anyone more qualified to be a cop than the woman I see right here.”

I didn’t say a word. I just stared into his eyes. My lip quivered as I opened my arms. He gave me a big old hug and I felt myself relax in his embrace.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

“Eh, what are friends for?”

I sniffled as I wiped my face. He released me from his arms. Exhaling, I turned from him and grabbed a bag of cheese balls from under it. I needed a snack right now.

"You’s going home yet?" I asked.

"Not yet, I have to file this report to the Captain," he said. "An Army Humvee will take me home. Don't worry."

"What’s it for?"

"A letter of recommendation to the Commissioner on your behalf," he said, looking up.

I blushed.

"You'd do that for me?" I asked.

"Of course. You’re my partner, my best friend," he smiled. "I can't just let you be fed to the wolves, can I?"

I handed him a cheese ball, exaggerating a cry. His gaze softened as he must have realized the significance of the cheese sphere. He took it and popped it in his mouth.

"You'll be fine," he said, chewing.

"Sure."

I flashed him a soft smile, pressing the bag to my chest like a child would a teddy bear. Finishing the bag, I disposed of it. Standing up, I patted Marcus on the back as I headed to the door. As I reached the threshold of the door, Marcus stopped me.

"Morgan, just so you know, I'd have punched him, too."

I paused for a moment. I didn't turn around.

"Thanks," I said, closing the door. “I’ll see ya around then.”

My heart felt light and I couldn't help but smile. I was really lucky to have Marcus. However, despite my smile, my eyes were sad as I stared down at my feet. I needed a shower. I headed to the locker room to change. After a needed shower and a change of clothes, I exited the room. I felt clean and cool. Exhaling, I dusted myself off and walked down the hall taking the long route to the main lobby. Turning a corner, I found myself in another empty hallway. But it wasn't quiet. I heard distant shouting down a side hall leading from the one I was in. Out of curiosity, I went down the hall. I saw that several officers and a suit were standing in front of a large pane of observation glass. It was one of the interrogation rooms.

"What's goin’ on?" I asked.

"My partner is questioning that man you picked up, Officer Morgan," the suit said, recognizing me.

"You’s that suit from that one time," I pointed, remembering.

He was the same suit from that day at the park after the shooting.

"Yes, Special Agent Walker," he added. "You really put a number on that Jones, by the way. Can’t say I blame you."

I gave him a weak smile in return as I approached. He then stepped aside for me to see. The room was as all interrogation rooms were, gray and boring. A faint shaft of orange flooded from the pane glass above behind the suspect. The man was handcuffed and strapped to the metal chair. He had dark blood on his shirt and he looked quite disheveled.

"Why's he strapped to the chair?" I asked. "Afraid he'll bite ya?"

I chuckled, expecting him to chide me for joking.

"He did," the detective said, flatly.

I stopped.

"What?"

"When he entered the room, the man went crazy and tried to attack the Detective," An officer beside me said. "We managed to restrain him but he spat on us."

He showed me his shirt. A dark fluid had covered it.

"Blood?"

"No clue," he said. "But I think so."

I furrowed my brow. What the hell? The detective was pacing in front of the man across the metal table, speaking but I didn't hear anything. He was wearing a visor to protect his face. The detective beside me pressed a button. Sound came through and I could hear what he was saying.

"I'm going to ask you again. Why did you attack that officer? Why did you attempt to bite my partner? That's a federal offense, you know."

"I—She told me to," the man wept.

His skin was mottled and grayish. His body was shaking uncontrollably. He looked like he was about to kick the bucket.

"Who told you?"

"The white-haired bitch!" He cried out.

"White-haired? What's her name?" The detective asked.

"Oh god! The voices told me! They're screaming. Don't you hear them?!" He snapped. “They want all of us. They’re coming!”

"Relax miste—"

The man flinched, leaning back in the chair.

"Oh my god! She's here!"

He kicked and screamed as he tried to get away from an unseen force.

"I need help," the detective demanded. "Help me restrain him!"

Two of the officers rushed in to help. Turning from them, I jumped. There was someone else in the room with them. I didn't see her there before. She was wearing… the uniform blue? A white-haired woman? Her face was covered in a patrol cap but when I saw the badge number and her figure, I felt like vomiting. I knew who it was. That smirk on her shadowed face brought me back to the day I woke up to that dream. The familiar smiley face button on her right breast, the same one that I had, told me it was happening again. And when I saw it, my blood stopped flowing. It was indescribable seeing the woman stand there menacingly in the corner of the room. The man was shrieking at the sight of her but for some reason, the others couldn't see her.

"Ya see that?" I said, pointing to the corner of the room.

"Yeah, he's flipping his shit.”

"No I mean—"

The detective gave me a puzzled look.

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

My heart dropped.

“Don’tcha see the woman?”

“Who?”

I blinked, absolutely bewildered at this moment. Quickly, an excuse came to mind.

“Oh haha, just kiddin’,” I sheepishly said, scratching the back of my neck.

I averted my gaze but I could still feel the man’s eyes on me. The man gave me a puzzled look before turning back to the window.

"Never mind," I whispered.

This was a hallucination, wasn't it? But why could he see it too? Were we seeing the same thing?

"Save me, save me oh god she's here!" He screamed, turning to me. “She wants us!”

Our eyes locked. No way, he couldn't have known I was here. This glass is one-way.

"Morgan!"

"Hah!?" I gasped, stepping back.

"What the hell?" The detective exclaimed, looking back.

"Help me, Morgan!" He pleaded. "Save me!"

"Ain't this glass one-way?" I asked questioned.

"It is," another replied, equally confused.

My face was in utter shock. I… I was—

"Then how the fuck does he know I'm here?!" I bleated.

"I don't know," the suit said. “What the hell’s going on?”

"Y—You're the Advocate! You got to save us! They chose you, didn’t they? He chose you. Please, we need more time!"

He croaked and sniffled as he looked straight into my eyes.

“Take it all in! You have to—accept it within you,” he pleaded. “Accept the challenge and destroy it!”

I furrowed my brow. It was just so weird and creepy, beyond words. This man knew my name. And his words. They were crazed but that one work kept my attention even though I wanted to just walk away.

“Advocate! You're our only—agh! Stop make it stop!" He pleaded to me. “Does she fear the lights?”

"Shuddup!" An officer said, holding him down.

"Tell me! Does she fear the lights? The Sun?!" He pleaded for an answer. “Please answer me!”

I shook my head, freaked out of my mind. This was unreal. There was no way that thing was real. This was some sick joke. The hallucination ambled slowly towards the man.

"He is right. Through her, will all things come together for she is the Advocate," she spoke.

He was crying as the hallucination approached him. She laughed a deep and sinister cackle. The voice was reverberating as if multiple people were talking at once. It put a hand on his cheek. From the spot, black veins appeared to snake along his face and down his neck.

"All things must come to pass. For you, it is your condemnation."

Then the hallucination faded away, vanishing into burning ash as the shaft of light from the window touched her. As soon as she disappeared, the man began seizing up, foaming at the mouth.

"Tom! Call a bus!" The other suit shouted. "He's having a seizure."

But it wasn't just him. I felt a huge burning pain in my left eye that sent me to the ground. My eyes were squeezed shut as tears streamed down. I covered my left eye with my hand. It felt like a hot iron was pressed into my head. I cried out as the detective knelt beside me, shaking me.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, really I am," I said, standing up. "I—This day's just been a long one. A headache."

I took a minute to catch my breath as the sheering pain disappeared. I just stood there, taking a breath. Behind us, footsteps drew nearer.

"The wheel turns, Advocate. For this is the changing world that you shall bear witness to," the voice said into my ear. “Will you accept the Son of Adam’s charge and oppose us or will you fall as Man shall?”

Then it disappeared. I could feel that presence vanish and I was left to near tears. I exhaled and closed my eyes. Breathing, I turned and walked down the hall, ignoring the calls of the detective.

"Hey, we need to talk," he said. "How does he know your name? Do you know him?"

"I don't! Leave me alone. I'm suspended," I said. "This is off my hands. I—I'm going home."

The detective just stood there as I walked down the hall, not even looking back at him. I didn't speak as I walked to the exit. It was as if I was in a trance. My eyes were heavy and my feet walked on their own. I opened the doors to the parking lot. My heart was heavy but suddenly in the light if the afternoon sun, I felt like a feather. It was as if someone was piggybacking on me but then jumped off. Walking to the car, I looked up the old oak. A little bird was jumping here and there.

"Hey buddy," I smiled, weakly. "How ya holdin’ up?"

It flew away. I sighed and frowned.

"So ya wanna get outta here, too?"

I stepped into the driver seat and turned the car. Pulling out, I looked one more time at the station. The cold gaze that it gave me back sent shivers down my spine. It was ironic. I was wanting my month off and here I got it. But it wasn't as I wanted it. My face was downcast as I drove off to the store. I didn't have much as it is. I felt a drop of water land on my knee.

"Huh?" I gawked, surprised. "Was I?"

I wiped my face. Stop being such a loser. I wasn't some weak girl, I thought. Enough of this self-loathing. It'd be alright. I’ll just have to scrimp for a while. I pulled out of the parking lot and drove off down Eighty-fifth. I didn't turn on the radio. I needed a bit of silence and I hoped no one would speak. Please don't speak, please. Thankfully, I heard no one.

The trip to the store was a blur. I felt like I was just watching myself. The shelves were cleared of everything. There was barely anything: no canned goods, no water bottles, no chips, nothing. Not even cigarettes were around. I felt such a pang in my heart and so I left it empty-handed. It wasn't unexpected. The city was still reeling from the hurricane. Thankfully, the store clerk didn’t care about today’s fiasco. The drive back was uneventful, save for the sight of looters scurrying away into the dark alleys around. Hopefully they wouldn’t try anything with my car. I parked out front of my apartment. I looked at my hands. They were small and frail, pale and waxy as the concrete. I opened the door and closed it. Walking into the lobby I found it empty. Gloria and her husband had packed up and left while I was in the hospital. I hope they were doing alright. The lobby was a mess, paper and trash lined the walls. I ignored it and entered the elevator. At least the electricity was on here. Exiting the elevator, I dragged myself to my apartment. Turning a corner, my stupor was vanquished as I found a weaved basket at the foot of my room. It was beautifully decorated with flowers and ribbons. There was a huge smoked ham in it with a carton of Menthols. I squatted as I touched the basket, hesitantly.

"What the hell is this doin’ here?" I asked. "Who gave me this?"

This couldn’t have been gifted from some kid like the others. The cigarettes told me so. I furrowed my brow. The ham was from my old hometown. How did this get here? There was a pink floral envelope in the basket. I opened it, flipping open the letter and read, whispering the words. As I read them, I covered my mouth, holding back sobs.

_ To the loveliest cop in all of New York City. I saw on the news what happened today. To tell you the truth, I was surprised but then I remember. It's just how you are. The way you clocked that jerk in the face showed him what for. You don't take no for an answer and you always speak your mind, albeit with your fists. You're quite honest if I do say so myself. That's what I like about you. You're the truest person I've ever seen not to mention the most beautiful. So to cheer you up, I got you this smoked ham and a carton of your favorite smokes. I remember you saying it was your favorite on the news awhile back so I thought it'd be a good pick-me-up. I was originally going to give you these for your birthday but I guess today it was needed more. Sorry if this sounds weird or anything. I just want to let you know you're not alone and you got friends out there that'll support you all the way. Keep your head up and don't worry about a thing. Everything will be all right. Yours truly, your biggest fan. _

Tears fell onto the letter as I clenched my eyes shut. Was it—no way. It couldn’t be. Whoever it was, this person—I really was lucky. My face was red and hot as I absorbed the words on the paper. Wiping my face and exhaling the pent up feelings in my chest, I cradled the basket.

"Thank you," I said, holding the basket tight against my chest. "Lucky."

I stood up and opened my door. Walking into the darkness, I placed the basket on the kitchen table, kicking my shoes off. Ham for dinner, eh? Better than nothing, I supposed. I tossed my cardigan onto the couch and sat down, taking a cig from the carton. Lighting it, I took a drag. It felt like my body was softening from the inhalation. Oh, I really needed this. Standing up and heading to the balcony, I heard the sound of sirens below. I opened the sliding door and was kissed by hot August air. I leaned over the edge. Several cruisers were speeding down Central Park West towards Lower Manhattan. I guess they were heading to Times Square. It was an educated assertion. I flicked ash into the air as I looked over the darkening city. The city lights were fewer than before as the gold light of afternoon bathed the city. The blinking of patrol cars and the sounding of helicopters overhead and that incessant droning of construction told me the city had changed. Huge tents were being propped up and below I could see they were constructing some kind of fence around the park. Central Park was becoming a settlement with a large tent city being constructed. I furrowed my brow. The world was indeed changing and yet here I was. That man that said my name in that room, the hallucinations, my impulsion to punch that guy, was I changing, too? I looked at my hand. My skin was paler than before, a good shade or two more. A strand of my hair fell onto the palm of my hand. The orange of the sunset bathed me in light. I looked at the strand of hair closely. It was white. I frowned before flicking it off down the edge. Taking my cellphone out of my pocket, I pressed the call button.

"Hello?" The voice asked.

"Ian, it's Morgan," I said.

"Ah Morgan, I saw on the news. Are you okay?"

"Fine, I'll be having a lot of free time for a while," I joked, somberly. "Anyway, mind if I ask you something."

"Yeah, sure," he said. "What is it?"

I exhaled, clenching my jaw. I looked out over the park to the many pillars of smoke billowing over Long Island. The flickers of distant fires and the moans of faraway gunfire echoed in my ears.

"Tell me everythin’ ya know about shared hallucinations."


	17. Shadows of Our Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month has passed and Morgan’s suspension is drawing to an end. The city is in decay as anarchy reigns beyond the heavily guarded clean zones of the city. Haunted by her hallucinations, Morgan gets called up to help Marcus move his family into the safety of Central Park but as madness envelops the city, she begins to realize she too is suffering from the madness of things unknown and obscure.

 

Had it always been like this? That question swirled through my mind like a raging tempest. And what was the answer? I couldn't seem to remember. Every failing fragment could not paint the memories or erase the scars that now ravaged the swirls of my mind. And yet here they lingered to sing before me, taunting me with their vestiges of better days. Only now in the soundless whisper of the morning did I realize what I was given. It was this invisible and chronic pain that burned me whenever I had the dreams of that hellish church that plagued me to near exhaustion. It had been months since I had a night's rest not waking up in the middle of the night screaming. That voice kept taunting me, mocking my attempts at escape as it dragged me into a pool of red insanity. For in the dark, it was always there, watching me. In the pale yolk of the sun, I was safe. At least, I was for those fleeting moments that darkness was not around. But with the frequent brownouts, it was always near. As I looked out the balcony window to the meekness of the morning sun, I realized I received only a twisted mockery of the gentle, carefree days of my youth. And now, with everything around crumbling to dust, a weakness came to light.

It crawled towards me from the inky darkness. Pale skin over a grotesque, emaciated form with an aching heart it bled from its gaping maw of rotting innocence to plunge me to nothingness. The thing had a crab-like gait as it scuttled along the wood floor toward me. A featureless head, save for the gyrating bloody maw that seemed to drag me in, was all that greeted my now exhausted and unmoved face. It was a sickening gray as it dragged its profane form towards me, uttering unintelligible words in my own voice. But this fright that would have tore through me was now but a disturbed annoyance. After so many weeks of nearly daily apparitions, this new abomination was now as frightful as a creaking of a cabinet at night. But then as if sensing my lack of visceral terror, it vanished. The thing faded into a burst of flame and ash from the light rays that peeked through the worn curtains. It was then that the flames dissipated into a cloud of inky dust that swirled in the still air before swarming into my mouth like cigarette smoke. Then, like a gunshot, a scream of noise filled my ears.

I was assaulted by the cries of sirens. A battalion of ambulances and fire trucks roared onward down below. It was like this every morning now. It had been a month since I was discharged from the hospital, a month since I was suspended and a month since I was awakened to the unprecedented mayhem that was now choking the city and many like it. Every blaring car horn and distant siren, every belligerent buffoon, and drunkard shouting over the hum of desperate traffic, every wailing child, and every panicking fool only added to the sickness of noise that clouded Manhattan like a death shroud. I hated it. In this city, you can never find peace, not nowadays. Not even the wind would be such a gentleman as to bestill my aching, troubled heart. A twitch of a perched bird, a stroke of wind upon my window, the incessant mourning of the ambulance sirens, all of it I heard. I wished with every fiber of my being that I couldn’t. For silence was the peace that could soothe my heart in these dark days. For in the dark, with the light of the gentle sun far from view, all that I could confide in was my own thoughts. But I feared that even they had become corrupted by what madness was causing everyone to panic and hide. For I was trapped like many here, stuck in the madness of things only dreamed up in a fantasy that now was all around, stalking like a hunter in the shadows. I fidgeted with the hem of my tank top.

Cupping my face in my hands, I sat in silence on the couch, staring aimlessly at the translucent curtains letting in only subdued glints of light. The cool wind whispered to me, caressing my pitch-colored hair with fleeting comfort. And then it vanished with my fragile peace of mind. Standing up, I ambled toward the balcony. Sliding the glass door completely open, I breathed in the air that rushed forth before leaning against the railing. The soft breeze kissed my pale skin. I looked like a ghost now. Dark circles around my half-lidded and tired eyes spoke of sleepless anxiety. The air was not fresh; it was putrid. The smokey taste at the back of my throat told me of such reality. A constant scent of burnt garbage and something else made breathing a laborious chore rather than an instinctive reflex. And I was sure that I was probably going to get some terrible lung disease later in life if the cigarettes wouldn’t do it first.

New York was becoming more like Beijing. The only difference was that Beijing had emptied a week ago while here the Government still wanted to save it. Pushing past the smoke and towering, darkened office buildings, a familiar form came to view. Central Park was glistening under the dawn’s light before me. And it was then that I remembered what it looked like before these days. In my usual morning routine when I had my days off, I would have had my breakfast on the balcony and watch the distant glass towers glisten under the light of dawn. It would be a cool gem that would shine brightly as the sun rose before it. There was a once a great regal quality to it from my vantage point up high, a charm to it. It was a strange thing to think on now. After all, Manhattan was now nothing but a shadow of its former sheen. Pillars of smoke and ash billowed out of the towers, military camps and the piles of burning garbage were scattered through the city. Central Park was now a tent city with several APCs stationed at the gates leading into the park and hundreds of mobile homes and tents for civilians. The police continued struggling to regain control over the lawless streets. There were isolated pockets of law with a sea of mayhem in between. My apartment overlooked the largest clean zone. Marcus’s house was in the sea of crime. The government had limited resources and so designated key locations to have the National Guard control. Government buildings, Central Park, Madison Square, Yankee Stadium, the Stock Exchange, and City Hall were such examples. The stretched NYPD was left to police the rest of the city. I turned from that thought towards Central Park. The entire park was surrounded by a fifteen-foot chain link fence with barbed wire. Squads of soldiers patrolled its perimeter. I looked up from a distant boom. The distant hum of ship horns and helicopter blades echoed across the churning waters. It was a sorry sight to behold but I couldn’t fault it. After all, those across the river weren't doing any better. Compared to them, we were living in a haven. The whole of Long Island being under quarantine for the past few month was a no show. An incessant moan of clogged traffic sullied the dawn air. Spitting over the edge, I look down. A blaring siren rang upward. A column of military Humvees was passing by following an ambulance.

Turning back, I walked into the ink of the living room. I crossed and headed to the kitchen. I opened the fridge. There was nothing left except a few bottles of water from a military attaché. I needed to go to the ration station down the block later. But would they even have food left? I wasn’t sure. Maybe the military centers would have some. Sighing and grabbing one of the bottles, I crossed back to the living room and sat down. Turning on the television, I sank into the soft fabric.

_Fears of a new economic recession have been realized as unemployment rises to thirteen percent exacerbating the already unstable situation on the East Coast and the energy and gas shortages._

_The United States continues to deal with the unprecedented humanitarian crisis on Long Island with the increasingly dire fuel shortages across the United States straining further efforts at containing the cases of still unexplainable violence and aggression to a standstill following the ruling out of H-three-N-two on Thursday as the cause. According to the CDC, an estimated forty-six percent of Long Island’s population is confirmed infected with various degrees of psychosis and aggression. Atlanta is also suffering from staggering numbers with nearly fifteen percent infected and Baltimore with nearly twenty percent. In total, the number of deaths associated with these still-unexplainable cases of aggression is estimated at one hundred and ninety-four thousand in the United States alone in only the past four months and worldwide numbers estimated at fifteen million and climbing._

_Police are still searching for clues regarding the horrific mauling of John Stukalsky last week. Due to the nature of his injuries, it is suspected that a large dog was the cause but evidence remains unclear due to the incident occurring during heavy rains._

_As a result of an unprecedented terror attack on Capitol Hill resulting in thirty-two dead by Redeemer-affiliated insurgents, the President has ordered for the III Corps to augment the embattled National Guard with a portion of the Army Reserve being called up as well in monitoring of neighboring cities for violent incidents while cities that have been labeled as ‘Affected’ are contained and secured by the Army Reserve._

_“You know what I am on about—yeah, ah huh—the devil is among us today, ladies and gentlemen—preach it—Wormwood has come in the form of this blight—say it, brother—and we are here to see the end of days as was scribed in the book of Revelations—_

The power went out and so I was left once again in darkness. Fuck it. I stood back up and walked to my bedroom. It was then that I heard my phone go off on the nightstand.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Morgan.”

“What’s up, Marcus?” I asked, picking my teeth. “Finally decide to hightail it outta there?”

He didn’t answer me right away.

“Yeah… it is about time,” he said, his voice was soft.

“Spooked about the break-in?”

“Yeah, my girls are scared so what can I do? Thanks for coming when you did.”

“No problem. That jackoff already ran off by the time I got there.”

I frowned.

“You know you didn’t have to chase him down, you could’ve gotten hurt.”

“Eh, whatever,” I shooed.

“Still, he probably was combing the place.”

“So where are ya plannin’ on takin’ ya family?” I asked.

“I reserved a trailer next to the station. They’ll be staying there until I can get them transit passes to stay with my parents in Chicago.”

“Want me to come over and help?” I asked.

“I would appreciate it,” he said, quietly. “We won’t take much with us, just a few suitcases and the dog.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon,” I said. “You got a ride, right?”

“Yeah, Damon’s coming over with his pickup in an hour but I could use you to help lock up the house.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a bit. My car’s outta gas so I’ll have to walk.”

“Stay safe, okay? There’s a lot of looters out there so be careful.”

“Eh, c’mon, Marcus. It’s just a buncha mooks out there. But okay, I’ll be careful. See you in a bit.”

“Alright," he said. “Oh, and thanks again.”

“Hey, what’re friends for?”

He hung up. I tossed the phone onto the bed. I got dressed. I took a hoodie and a pair of black leggings from the closet and combed my hair down. Unlocking my nightstand, I took out my wallet, off-duty piece and my thigh holster. Thankfully, I was given back my badge by the captain the other day. I wouldn’t be able to pass the checkpoints without it. Putting it in my hoodie pocket and clipping my holster to my thigh, I grabbed my phone and headed to the front door. Slipping into my sneakers, I exited my apartment. Locking the door, I headed to the stairs. The elevator was too dangerous to use with all these frequent brownouts. The hall was dark and only the faint light beneath the doorframes indicated where the walls were to me. After a few minutes, I reached the bottom of the stairs. Exiting the litter-covered lobby, I opened the door and walked outside. It was rather cool seeing as it was September now. The leaves were now a yellowish-green compare to a more robust emerald of months past. It seemed as if the whole world was sickly. I stopped at the sidewalk. My car was out of gas and even our stipend was now restricted to “official business only.” I’d have to walk to Marcus’s house from here. That was a good half hour walk with all the closed streets and detours I would have to take. Popping my hood over my head, I headed west. I took a cig from the pack in my hoodie pocket. Lighting it, I inhaled the smooth acid smoke.

“Haah, oh that’s nice,” I whispered, exhaling smoke.

Cracked concrete, piles of trash, and the incessant fits of coughing from the homeless loitering about the stoops greeted the eye with a vicious moan. Color had long disappeared from this place. And it was as if the world had become subdued and washed out. The trees were dying, the leaves falling a little here and there. The streets that were once crowded and bustling were now empty and quiet. Cars were parked along the street, covered in leaves and abandoned for all intents and purposes from the gas shortage. Anti-government Graffiti covered the brick. White medical tents stood vigil on the larger intersections. Shutters and windows would shut tight. The homes were barricaded shut to prevent looters. Anyone around was either hidden in the nearest rotting hole barricaded in their homes with fear of something or corralled in the Clean Zones. On the doors of the homes, there was spray painted Xs. FEMA had gone through the area marking the homes with search codes. Those were probably from after the hurricane when they were searching for survivors. The Xs had with them numbers indicating the number of occupants, the date searched and if the building was condemned or secured. The scene reminded me of FEMA’s X-codes during Katrina. Why did this have to happen? What happened here? I asked myself. I shook my head of the thoughts as I cross a street.

I remember a year back, on this very street, Marcus and I were heading to the park to go fishing. I still remember Marcus wearing the most awful-looking fishing cap. He looked like the most ridiculous-looking yuppie. I chuckled lightly to myself at the memory. I got a foot-long bass from the Lake that day, a first for me. Most of the time I was fishing for panfish back home. I exhaled, saddened as reality returned to me.

“Eh, Miss, can ya spare a moment for an old man?” A raspy voice called out.

I stopped and turned to the voice. To my right, sitting on the steps of a house, a dirty-looking man in rags, a beanie cap and patched clothing was looking up to me. He had a scraggly gray beard and thinning, wispy hair. The thing that made me linger though was his eyes. They were a beautiful milky-blue, the signs of blindness. He gave a curt smile underneath his beard.

“What’s a lady like yerself doing out here? It’s dangerous ya’know.”

“How did you know I was a woman?” I asked. “I don’t mean to be rude but I reckon on account of ya eyes, you’s blind.”

“You could say that. I could tell by the way you smell,” he said, chuckling.

“Is that so?”

“Lavender and Honeysuckle shampoo, am I right? But I suppose you’s ain’t no ordinary lady out for a walk, on account of that gun you got there,” he said, pointing to my sidearm around my thigh.

“Looks like it,” I said back. “But how did’cha know?”

I crossed my arms and cocked my hips, amused by this man.

“I could hear the rattle of ya gun against ya thigh, ma’am,” he smiled, closing his eyes. “And my, aren’t they some beautiful thighs, indeed. Probably attached to some equally beautiful hips, am I right?”

I laughed.

“My hips are one of my best features,” I snickered back.

This man was funny in a weird perverted way. But I could tell he was no threat. People like him were always a flirtatious bunch and since I had but thicker skin than some, I wasn’t offended at all. In fact, it was quite amusing.

“What’cha doin’ out here, old man?”

“The clean zones won’t take me in. Say’s I’m a liability on account of my eyesight or lack of it. So if you could spare a dollar, I’d be most appreciative.”

My grin faded back to my naturally bored expression.

“I see,” I nodded, taking out my wallet. “You’s gonna use it to buy liquor, am I right?”

“Haven’t touched the stuff in decades, little lady. But I am in the mood for some hot soup at the ration station. It’s gonna be cold tonight.”

Nodding at his explanation. I opened my wallet. I had no cash on me but a few cards.

“Here, take this. I don’t need it.”

I handed him a plastic white card with the US government seal on it.

He took it in his hand and looked up at me.

“This is ya ration card, ain’t it? I could feel the braille on the back.”

“Yeah, and?” I replied, shrugging.

“I can’t take this, what are you going to do? You need to eat, too.”

I flashed him a grin.

“I’m a cop, fella. I’ll just mooch off my buddies, don’tcha worry ‘bout a thin’.”

He smiled at me and nodded.

“I—Bless you, Miss.”

“No problem,” I said, turning back to walk down the sidewalk. “Well, I gotta get goin’. Stay safe out there.”

“Oh, Miss,” the man spoke up. “Wait.”

I turned back to him.

“Ayuh?”

“If you don’t mind, let’s continue our conversation just a bit,” he said. “There is one more thing I would like to talk to you before you leave to whatever it is you're going.”

I looked at my watch. I still had a good twenty minutes.

“Sure, but make it quick,” I said.

He lowered his head and spoke. His voice was different now, different in tone.

“I feel that you are a lot more than you say you are.”

I cocked my hips and raised an eyebrow.

“What’cha mean? I told you I’m a cop. What else is there?”

“Just a cop?” He asked, giving a playful but questioning expression.

“Yeah, just a cop.”

“But you see them, too,” he said.

I blinked, furrowing my brow. The amusement I had now turned into an unsettling curiosity. Just who exactly was this old man?

“What do you mean ‘see them, too,’ old man?”

“I may be old and my eyesight may be poor but when one stands at the precipice of the abyss, you often become ‘acquainted’ with beings of that nature. Wouldn’t you agree?”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Beings of that nature?”

“What’cha talkin’ ‘bout? What beings?”

“You know, the things that go bump in the night. The boogeyman, night terrors, and those things in the corner of your eye that go away as soon you notice them.”

His face was now serious in mood.

“I’m talking about the Damned.”

“The Damned? You’s some street preacher?”

“No, ma’am. This got nothing to do with God but everything to do with us.”

“Us? You mean you,” I scoffed. “You’s must be pulling my leg old man. There’s nothing like that.”

He sighed.

“Then why else is your eye red if not you being touched by them?”

I froze.

“How do ya know ‘bout my eye?” I asked, accusatively. “You’s really blind?”

“More or less, I see shadows, lights, and darks. Ya’know, that sort. Can’t see the whole picture, if you get me.”

I exhaled.

“So what exactly does my eye have to do with anythin’?”

“Haven’t you been wondering about it? Eyes don’t glow in the dark. With you standing here, you’re back is to the light. Your eye shouldn’t be bright.”

I swallowed. It was true that my eye did appear to emit a faint light. But I chalked it up to me being tired and seeing things or the reflectiveness of a mirror. But this man was seeing it too? I shook my head. This was some kind of scam or something. I shouldn’t take this man’s words to heart.

“Okay, go on,” I said, hiding my sarcasm.

“Here in this city, an old city washed in countless years of negativity and blood, there is a lot of ‘soil’ for these things to take root. They aren’t necessarily ‘alive’ much less exist with a sense of themselves. They're more like the odor of the soil, you understand? And we give them purpose. Even though I would not call them ghosts or anything like that, they linger here in these tunnels, alleys and other empty places, flashes of memories looping over and over like a cassette tape. They are whispering and peering at us from the dark corners and grates in the walls as we speak. They’re waiting for a ‘farmer’ to loosen up that soil.”

He smiled.

“And it seems as if that farmer’ll be here soon.”

I frowned. This man was crazy. I really needed to get away and head on.

“These shadows in this empty purgatory call these places home, hidden everywhere watching and reliving their last moments for all time. You can see them, I can tell.”

“How so?”

He didn’t say another word on the matter. He merely gave a warm, almost pitying smile before looking down at his lap. I was troubled by his words but I chose to ignore them. I walked off, leaving the man to himself.

“I’m sure we’ll be in touch… Morgan.”

I gasped and stopped in my tracks. Jerking my head back I turned around. My eyes landed on the steps where he was sitting. But I found no one there. He was gone with just my ration card remaining on the gray concrete. My breathing was unsteady as I slowly walked back, cautiously to grab my card. My card did not have my name on it, just an ID linked to the application I submitted that day. I held it in my hand for a while before putting it away. I looked around one last time. There was no one around. I scratched my head.

“How did he know my name?”

I turned and continued on down the road. After a little while and crossing another few streets and intersections, I came upon a Military checkpoint on Eighty-Ninth and Amsterdam Avenue. The street was blocked off with metal crowd barriers and several armed men with gas masks stood on its perimeter. Spotting me, one of the men raised their hand towards me. I stopped.

“You’re entering a medpoint. Hands where I can see them, ma’am.”

I raised my hands, aware now not to mess around with these guys.

“What’s this all ‘bout, fellas?” I asked, tired of the constant examines. “I’m Officer Morgan of the Central Park Precinct, my badge is in my pocket, check for yerself.”

Since my suspension, it seemed that no matter where I went, I’d run into an army patrol every other block. They were everywhere now and it didn’t help winning hearts and minds when they pulled you to the side to check your papers. One of the soldiers approached me, he stuck his hand in my pocket and took out my badge.

“She’s clear,” he said, putting my badge back into my pocket.

“So what’s this all ‘bout?”

“This is a medical checkpoint, ma’am. You’ll have to submit to a medical exam if you want to proceed forward,” the soldier said.

I sighed, “Fine. But I ain’t strippin’. Take my blood, my piss, whatever. But I ain’t takin’ my clothes off.”

“That’s fine, ma’am. You won’t have to do any of that. Just follow me.”

I lowered my hands and followed the soldier behind the concrete barricade to a large white party tent in the middle of the intersection. There was a trailer adjacent to it to the left. Several white-clad medical-looking men were busy examining patients. They would walk in front of a camera like in the airport and after a beep, they would walk off. Looked easy enough. The soldier pointed to the line.

“Head over there and wait in line.”

“Okay.”

I crossed the tent and stood behind a pregnant woman and her husband. Their toddler was wedged between them. She turned to me, her bright blue eyes greeted my cold gray ones. She frowned.

“Mommy, a bad lady’s looking at me,” the kid said.

Hah? Bad lady? Me?

The woman turned and greeted my eyes. She froze. I could tell she was looking into my left eye. She turned her attention quickly from my face to my leg, specifically, my gun. She quickly turned back to her kid and whispered something to her that made her quit. Was I really that scary? I may look like a bitch but I’m a gentle squid at heart. Shaking the thought away, I looked around to take in my surroundings. There were about fifty people here. I was about halfway in line by now so it was going by fairly quickly. But still, this would take a while. Taking my badge from my pocket, I looked at the shiny reflection. I nearly lost this being a dumbass during that rally. As I waited, a loud beeping broke the mundane air.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?!” A belligerent voice called out. “The fuck you mean I didn’t pass.

Radio chatter, indiscernible in their content, began to go off around us. People were murmuring to each other. I peeked to the side to see what was happening. A man in a torn suit and dark circles around his eyes was shouting at the camera operator.

“The fuck you mean I’m positive? I’ve been in Manhattan the whole damn time. There’s no way I caught whatever the fuck is over there.”

“Sir, please remain calm,” the camera operator said, raising a gloved hand to quiet the man.

“Like hell I am,” he snapped, scratching his arms. “This is bullshit, I’m going home.”

As he stepped away to walk out of the tent, two soldiers met to greet him. Their rifles were in their hands. One raised his hand to halt the man.

“I’m going to ask you to come with us,” he said.

“Excuse me?” He gawked. “I am no way in hell going. I’m not sick!”

The soldier placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. The man shrugged him off.

“Don’t touch me, asswhip.”

The soldier turned to his partner and nodded his head. The other did the same. In a flash, the man in the suit was on the ground, his hands behind his back. The soldier was handcuffing him.

“Aah! Let me go, you fuckers!”

“This is Medpoint Eighty-Ninth and Amsterdam. We have a suspected infection, white male, blond hair. Shows signs of aggression and scratching,” the soldier said into his radio.

“Aggression?! I shall you aggression you motherfucker!”

The man began to thrash as the soldier pressed his knee on the man’s neck.

“Requesting a bus for Quarantine Site Six, over.”

“Copy that, restrain subject and wait until relief arrives, over,” a voice on the radio responded.

“Roger that,” the soldier said, turning to his partner. “Take him to the trailer.”

The man was then lifted and dragged kicking and screaming out of the tent. Everyone grew still and quiet as the armed men left. I let out a sigh as I scratched the back of my head. That guy should’ve kept quiet. I closed my eyes, growing tired. Maybe I’ll have a nap when I finish helping Marcus. It must have been a good ten minutes until I finally was awoken from my standing nap.

“Next.”

“Huh?” I gawked, drool dripping from my lip. “Oh, right!”

I wiped my mouth. I wiped my hair down so my bangs were covering my left eye. I didn’t want them to see my eye or else I’d probably end up like that dude. Inhaling and hoping for this to end quickly, I quickly walked toward the camera and stood in front of the table with the camera.

“I have already been informed of your presence by one of the guards. Can you please hand the officer beside me your firearm, Officer?”

Nodding, I unholstered my gun and handed him it.

“Now, name, age, and occupation.”

“Morgan Gray, twenty-six years old. I’m an NYPD Patrol Officer, Central Park Precinct.” I said.

“Are you taking any medication right now?”

“Just aspirin,” I said. “For my headaches.”

“Any recent altercations while on the job?”

“No, I’ve been on… unpaid leave for the past month.”

“Why is that?”

“I punched a protester in the face,” I said.

The operator grinned.

“Any injuries in the past four months requiring medical professionals?”

“I was involved in an armed hostage situation at the Plaza Hotel about two and half months ago with the Redeemers. I was in a coma for a month because of it.”

The woman wrote down everything that I said. It was rather nerve-racking and I felt myself starting to sweat.

“Okay. Step forward and look into the camera.”

I did so. A quick flash occurred and the sounds of a scan went off. The woman then looked into the laptop beside her.

“Okay, you’re all good to go.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as I went to the table to collect my gun. Holstering it, I nodded to the workers before I exited the tent.

“Thanks,” I said to the guard before he pushed the barricade to let me pass.

Walking down the street, I checked my phone. Just a few minutes and I’ll be at Marcus’s house. With my hands behind my head, I breathed in the quiet air of this wooded street. Only the sounds of my footsteps on the concrete and the wind accompanied me. I closed my eyes and sighed. My stomach rumbled. I was really hungry. I wonder if Marcus had anything in his fridge. Thinking of what to eat for tonight, something changed as I passed a corner onto a much quieter street. It was minute if something as trivial as a gust of wind, I’d have missed it. I took a step and the sound echoed but then another step came but it wasn’t me. I continued my pace and listened carefully. It occurred again and this time closer. I furrowed my brow. I was being followed.

I lowered my hands slowly. I placed my right on my holster and unclipped my gun. The sound was drawing closer and with more energy to it. Opening my eyes, I found the street empty. I slowly began to turn my head to look over my shoulder. It was probably just some random person, nothing to worry. Even if it was a mugger, I was more than prepared for him. I had a gun and, if need be, I could handle him in a melee fight. Having a childhood friend and guardian twenty years your senior had its benefits. Instead of talking about boys or playing at the playground in town, Mister Reynolds, or Travis as he liked being called, taught me every trick in the book or at least he claimed, being ex-military and all. I had this in the bag. I’d just have to turn quickly and confront him. The surprise alone would probably spook him away. Finding this plan sufficient, I turned. But as I turned, I felt rapid footsteps to my right, ones that I had not noticed. My heart began to quicken as I ran a million scenarios in my head. They approached at alarming speed. Jerking my head to the sound, I felt a heavy fist slam into my stomach and then my face, sending me back onto the street. I fell and hit my head hard bouncing on the asphalt. I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry and I could see flashing lights. I was having a really bad case of vertigo; the world was spinning. My ears were ringing. I yanked my gun from my holster and aimed it wildly before I locked eyes on the approaching cloudy figure. As I was about to pull the trigger, the figure swiftly kicked, knocking my gun from my hand. I yelped as he grabbed my hands. I lifted my knee and flicked my lower leg up, axe kicking him in the chin. I saw a dark form rushing to me. But then another came out of nowhere and kicked me in the face. I fell back onto the floor. I was seeing stars. Then two large hands gripped my arms into a headlock and dragged me away. He was choking me out; the pressure in my head was beginning to rise and I felt my face reddening. I flailed my arms and kicked my feet but suddenly, a fist slammed into my chest, knocking the wind out of me. I couldn’t speak, my voice caught in a horrible coughing fit. Two more hands grabbed my legs and prevented me from struggling. My vision was still blurry and all I saw a murky figure in front and behind me lifting me and carrying me down a dark alley. Two more figures, vague and obscure followed closely behind. Their voices were distorted but I could vaguely recognize what they were saying. They were robbing me, I think, and making sure I was too fucked up to identify them. I tried to call out but my voice gave way. The man holding onto my arms stuck his hand into my pocket, fishing out my wallet. I wiggled and rolled but they had me locked, both my arms and legs immobile. So much for all that training, I thought. I might as well have been bound with rope. Suddenly, another shadow came to view way in the back. But this one was different. It didn’t have the same menacing energy around it but a more desperate one. The distorted voices began to shout as the fifth figure came barreling towards us. I couldn’t tell what was happening except that it seemed to leapfrog from one of the robbers to the next. Each time it did, fewer of the other figures came into view. The two men holding me let me go. I landed on my ass, stunned and choking for air. I tried to scream, clutching my throat. My voice was lost in a horrible fit of wheezes. Blinking, all I saw and heard was the two men that had held me were being attacked by someone else. The ringing in my ears had stopped and I could hear normally again. A deep masculine voice growled and snarled as two other voices, meeker in disposition were screaming and crying in pain. The sounds of fists colliding with skin continued before it stopped abruptly with my two assailants, I presumed, fell to the floor. My vision was beginning to clear up but as it did, a new fear came upon me as I looked at the bloodied men unconscious on the dirty alley floor. Was this man that beat these men up my savior or a more aggressive robber? I hoped it was a friendly person. Disorientated, I backpedaled until I felt my back meet brick. I looked up to the cloudy figure that had attacked my wouldbe robbers. He was looming over me. It cleared up to revealed a man clad in dark clothes and a baseball cap. He was definitely huge, both in height and presence. He must have stood six and a half feet tall with broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms. I tried to see his face but I couldn’t decipher it. It was shadowed by his cap and the darkness of the alley. All I could tell was that it was very masculine with a strong jaw and cheekbones. All I knew was that this guy had just beaten up four men by himself and was now standing right in front of me. I frowned and squeezed my eyes shut, cringing as I felt myself shudder. But instead of a knife at my throat or dirty hands around my neck, the man began to pat my head. His hand was huge, covering the top of my head like a hat. It was warm and dare I say it, comforting. It even had a familiar quality to it, as if he was saying…

“There, there, sweet girl,” he cooed, playfully. “It’s all over.”

He then walked off down the alley. His heavy footsteps departing before disappearing. My eyes did not blink. I merely sat there staring at the brick wall, frozen with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, comfort, nostalgia, abject terror, and confusion. That voice, it was the same voice in my—it couldn’t be. Those were dreams and this was real. Those never happened. Then why did I hear his voice here? I hit my head. It must’ve been my head. I rubbed my temples as I struggled to remember if I heard that voice before or those words.

“Think Morgan, think!” I groaned.

I couldn’t for the life of me. I exhaled in annoyance. Then the sounds of the men groaning awoke me from my thoughts. They were waking up. I had to get out of here and to Marcus’s place quick. Grabbing my wallet from the floor and my gun which was in one of the men’s hands, I ran. I ran for a good five or six intersections until the sounds and sights of people returned. I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted a comforting sight. It was Damon’s pickup down the road to my left. I was on Marcus’s street. Running across the intersection towards the red truck, I heard whispers, indiscernible in their meaning. I stopped and looked around. There was nothing. Maybe it was up ahead. Reaching the pickup, I spotted a large and muscular black man with short curly black hair putting a suitcase into the bed of the truck. His purple shirt was a good two sizes small for him and it made his already rippling muscles seem bigger. I smiled.

“Eh, Damon!” I shouted. “Yahoo! Over here, ya damn meathead!”

The man turned to me, his trademark pearly white teeth in a wide toothy grin.

“Yo, Morgan, what’s up. Glad you could make it. Marcus was wondering what was taking you so long.”

I laughed, attempting to hide the encounter I had off my mind. My heart was still pounding in my chest and my hands were still shaking.

“Ah, you know, the usual.”

‘I’m surprised you could find a hot dog stand around here, they all closed up shop down in East Village.”

“That’s ‘cause ya neighborhoods full of lively livered mooks,” I teased.

“Say’s the hick living in the Upper West Side.”

“Jealous, I see?”

“Hell nah, I wouldn’t want to live up here. It ain’t got no history on East Village.”

“Eh, what d'ya want?” I waved him off. “At least here, work’s a nice walk when Marcus has his own ride.”

Damon nodded and cross his truck.

“How’s Wong been?”

“He’s doing fine. Well, more than fine, I guess.”

“Why’s that?”

Damon gave a proud smirk.

“He got engaged.”

I gawked.

“Hah! Wong got hitched! I was sure as well he and Debra would be datin’ forever.”

“Looks like he grew a pair. Tied the knot a few days ago.”

“Shit! Well, I’ll be sure to congratulate him when I get back to work.”

“Oh yeah, isn’t your suspension over tomorrow?”

“Yup, I start work on Monday, I can finally stop burnin’ through my savings.”

“I’m sure Marcus’ll be glad to hear that.”

I nodded.

Damon took a breath and sighed, “C’mon, Marcus’s waiting.”

I followed closely behind as we walked up the steps to the front door. As we reach the top, the door swung open, nearly hitting Damon in the face. Coming from the house, two of the cutest little things burst out from the door. The first was a girl around five with mahogany-colored skin wearing a white summer dress with matching flats. Her long ebony hair was tied in a ponytail. The girl following her was a little shorter with short pigtails and rich chocolate-colored skin. She was wearing jean overalls and white sneakers.

“Morgan! Auntie Corn chips!” The two girls cheered, latching onto each of my legs.

I laughed heartily. It was probably the most I laughed in months. I bent over and gave each of them a tight squeeze. Then I remembered what happened just a few minutes ago and I hugged them tighter.

“Brianna, Kelly! How’s my little munchkins doin’?” I asked, making a weird and playful voice.

“Uwah! Great!”

“How are you?” Kelly, the younger one asked.

“Eh, fine, will be a lot better when ya pappy and I get back to work,” I said.

“I see they found her.”

I looked up. A woman with her hair down in a blouse and skinny jeans leaning against the door.

“Tasha! What’s up? What on earth have ya been feedin’ these guys?” I asked, lifting the two girls in my arms. “They’ve grown so much since I last saw ‘em.”

“They’re trying to follow in your footsteps,” she teased.

Damon and I chuckled as Tasha opened the door for us to enter. It’d been awhile since I last been here. It was a nice family home with an air of coziness to it, despite the modern furnishings and lights. I exhaled and frowned knowing they’d have to leave this all behind. How long would they have to leave their home? Shaking the thought away, I turned to Tasha, letting the girls slide off my arms to head upstairs.

“Go find your father for me, will you?” Tasha said.

“Okay!” the two girls shouted with glee.

“I'll come, too,” Damon said.

As soon as the girls and Damon were out of the room, I spoke.

“How ya holdin’ up?” I asked, turning to Tasha.

She didn’t have to put her front up now. She sighed, crossing her arms.

“Honestly, not too good. I don’t like the idea of moving into a tiny trailer in what’s essentially an internment camp.”

“Ya’know, you’s guys could’ve asked me. I woulda let ya guys stay as long as ya needed.”

“Thanks, Morgan, but me and Marcus already thought of that. But with the five of us in your studio apartment would be even more of a strain than the trailer.”

I nodded.

“Yeah, it’s basically a live-in closet,” I chuckled. “I can barely live in it as is.”

Tasha’s gaze softened as she motioned for the two of us to the living room.

Tasha and I sat on the couch.

“I’m more worried about the kids. Brianna was supposed to start preschool this month. But with everything going on, we had to cancel.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I didn’t go to preschool.”

“That’s because you’re a country girl. You learn everything you need outside of school.”

I turned back to Tasha. She was looking at her lap and I could tell she hadn’t slept in a while. She had bags under her eyes and even her mahogany skin seemed paler. Her hair too was disheveled as if she had been in been until recently.

“Ahe. About the break-in,” I began, clearing. “How ya been?”

Tasha looked up quickly.

“I’m better now,” she uttered.

“That's good.”

I nodded and looked at my own lap. I took a breath. I looked at my hands. They were clean and unmarred by…

* * *

 

_“Blood! Blood! Give me more!”_

_“No, oh god. Please, I give up!”_

_Blood mixed with rain. My hair fell over my eyes, red gazed upon white locks. I grinned from ear to ear._

_“Scream more! Scream, let me hear you scream!”_

_A rage bled from my gaping maw as I bared teeth that of sharks._

_“Advocate, bare your fangs and seek blood for it is your ransom. Come and walk this path.”_

_I barrelled towards the would-be robber. How dare he threaten my friends. I would show him. The price of his arrogance is…_

_“I seek blood to wash the filth!”_

_Rage, rage, rage! The man’s face melted to that of a diabolical goat with hooven hands and a vile grin that dared oppose me. What did it think it was? Nothing but wrath flowed in my veins. I would destroy it with these two hands! My body was on fire and possessed with one thing._

_“Soon you shall see our works.”_

_“Blood, you give me! You monster! I hate monsters!”_

_“Please, don’t kill me!”_

_Only death would appease these monsters. And so I leaped upon it and tore at its flesh. Blood and gore, I tore with my feet and hands and mouth. Hate! Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate!_

_“I eat! I will eat all of you, every last one of you!”_

* * *

 

“Morgan?” A voice called out, snapping me out of my stupor.

“Huh?”

I looked up and turned. Tasha was giving me a concerned look.

“Are you okay?”

“I—, Um, yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

I scratched the back of my neck and laughed nervously. Closing my hands, I felt Tasha’s taking one in hers. I felt a little more at ease.

"Morgan, you can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” I laughed. “I’m just antsy, is all.”

She kept her eyes on me as if analyzing my face. Then she gave a curt smile before standing up.

“Want some water?”

“Sure,” I nodded.

Tasha crossed the room and went into the kitchen. After a minute, she came back out with a glass of ice water. She handed me the glass.

“Thanks,” I said, gulping the water down a little too fast.

I began to cough as some water went down the wrong pipe. After settling back down, I heard footsteps coming downstairs. Tasha and I turned to the noise. Marcus, Damon, and the kids walked in. Marcus’s eyes lit as he spotted me.

“Eh, Morgan! You made it,” he smiled, opening his arms for a hug.

“Of course, I’d make it,” I said, hugging him back. “I couldn’t just sit back and let these two do all the hard work.”

I made a goofy face to the girls. They giggled as they ran to their mom.

“What took you so long?” Marcus asked. “ I was about to come find you myself.”

“I was delayed, is all. You’s know ‘bout ‘em army patrols. They just don’t wanna let ya go.”

Marcus laughed.

“Yeah, they’re a pain in the ass.”

I breathed a quick sigh of relief. Marcus seemed to buy my excuse.

“Well, c’mon then, I could use your help moving some things.”

“Ya got it,” I winked.

“Tasha, mind loading up the rest of the things in the playroom?”

“Sure,” Tasha said, turning to the girls. “Come on you two, let’s go get your toys.”

“Yeah!”

The three left the room and disappeared down the hall.

“They seem fine,” I said. “You's think they’d be upset having to move.”

Marcus sighed.

“I told them we’ll be back soon,” he confessed. “But I’m not sure how long we’ll be away.”

“Well, like a told Tasha. If things get hairy at the clean zone don’t hesitate to ask for anythin’.”

“Same here, Marcus. We gotta stick together.”

He smiled, appreciatively before patting my head and shaking Damon’s hand.

“I’ll be counting on you, two,” he said, crossing the room.

I followed him and Damon out of the room and towards the staircase.

“So what needs movin’?” I asked.

“Just a few more suitcases. After that, I’ll need your and Damon’s help setting up this new security system and with clearing out the fridge before we head on out.”

“I’ll take care of the fridge,” I joked, licking my lips and rubbing my hands.

“What’s the system?” Damon asked.

“Just a standard alarm trigger. It should spook anyone that tries to break in while we’re living in the clean zone.”

“Must’ve cost a lot,” I remarked.

“Not really, the precinct’s been giving them away to make families feel a bit more secure leaving their homes.”

“Maybe I should get one,” I replied.

“I’ll show you where I got it once we’re settled in the trailer.”

I smiled. Walking up the stairs, I saw that there were a few more suitcases left at the top landing. Grabbing them, we headed back down. Exiting the house, we carefully placed the suitcases in the back of Damon’s truck.

“Are we all gonna be able to fit in there?” I asked.

The truck had four seats.

“Yeah, you’ll just have to sit in the back,” Damon teased.

“Hah? Ah, so the tables have turned, I see,” I laughed.

Damon broke out in a snort as he high-fived me.

“Nice one,” he tittered.

“C’mon, this system’s take about an hour to set up,” Marcus smirked, walking ahead of us to the front door.

Damon and I quickly followed. As we walked towards the front door, I began to notice something. It was very subtle but in the windless air, I could hear it. Whispers of an unintelligible sort and entered my ears. I stopped and looked around. Nothing. I turned back and walked again. Damon had reached the steps and passed Marcus who was holding the door open. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I heard it again. But this time, they were more aggressive and agitated in tone and were louder. But worse, they were closer. I jerked my head to the sounds. Again, there was nothing. I furrowed my brow and exhaled.

“Morgan? What’s wrong?”

I turned back and waved him off.

“Nothing, I just heard something. It’s nothing.”

He shrugged, “well hurry up then.”

“Okay,” I replied.

I quicken my pace to a light jog. Stepping onto the steps, I heard it again. But this time, I could decipher the words. They were neither reassuring nor mundane but a poison that infected my mind.

“Does she fear us?”

“Yes, she does.”

“Upon the world shall this blight be cast upon.”

“Advocate, prepare. For our arrival shall be soon and swift and nothing shall be left but blood to repay.”

“Morgan?”

I looked up. My face was frozen in hurt and fright. Marcus frowned.

Are you okay? You look sick.”

“I—I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just hungry is all.”

He seemed to accept my reasoning as he turned to open the door for me. I nodded appreciatively as I entered. But right before he closed the door, I turned to look once more across the street. When I saw it, I now realized what I knew all along. Psychically, I was fine. But that explosion more than two and a half months ago did more than just break my bones and sear my flesh. Those had healed. But my mind, it was not. Would it ever? Across the street, I saw myself waving back at me. And behind the me across the street were black silhouettes of people. This crowd of these shadows of my madness waved unnaturally stiff like cardboard cutouts and they grew in number in the darkness of the alleyway. My face turned expressionless as I turned away as Marcus closed the door. I began to accept the truth. I was a schizophrenic mess. There were things I saw that weren’t there. There things I heard that couldn’t be there. The voices returned and innumerably. They were coming from inside my head and all around. I clutched my head in my hand and leaned against the stairs, groaning for them to stop. I was damaged.


	18. Telltale Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As more and more people are corralled in the overcrowded clean zones due to the increasingly dire situation, the threat of insurrection becomes omnipresent threatening to ignite a firestorm of violence and all out collapse of order in the midst of barely contained anarchy. Three days after returning to work, Morgan and Marcus find themselves in the midst of a boiling kettle that if spilled will have catastrophic consequences to that tenuous ‘peace’.

 “Okay, favorite character of the mod,” I asked.

“The Archbishop of Canterbury,” Marcus replied with a snap of his fingers.

“Canterbury, eh?” I rolled my eyes. “Why’s that?”

“You kidding me?” Marcus asked, surprised. “His stats are amazing for my playstyle?”

I weaved passed a standing officer as we turned a corner.

“But he’s such a weak character,” I said. “His unit’s attack strength is the same as the peasant levy.”

“But his stats boost everyone else. Think about it, Morgan. Strategy wins. You can't just rely on strength.”

“I guess if you’s runnin’ a faith-based army he’d be useful,” I conceded.

“Damn straight. Every siege he’s in with me, we kick total ass.”

“I’m still playin’ for the Welsh,” I said, blowing a raspberry. “How can I beat the damn English if my faction doesn’t even wear pants! I mean they’re mooks! Pantsless Mooks!”

“The Scots don’t wear pants in the mod, either.”

“But those are the Highlander units,” I waved him off. “They’re freakin’ tough as nails. They’ve earned the right to not wear pants. The Welsh in this mod are freak peasants with pitchforks. Sure they got some good archer units but they’re few and far in between.”

We stopped to let an officer pass us as they entered a room.

“Okay, I was in the middle of a battle for York Castle, right?”

“Yeah?” He said as we continued down the crowded hall.

“We had it in the bag. The English had nothin’ left but a unit of dismounted knights at half strength and maybe a few throwaway units. I had half my entire army left, right?”

Marcus nodded.

“Then all of a sudden, my general gets killed. Oh no, big whoop, who cares? We can still win.”

Marcus let out a groan in sympathy.

“I know where this is going.”

“Then all of a sudden, my entire army starts routin’ en masse. White banners all up in that shit. It was like Shamefur dispray,” I said, mimicking a certain game character’s voice.

Marcus began laughing at me, eliciting the curious gazes of our fellow officers.

“Alright, Shogun,” he smirked.

“Shuddap. Anyway, short version is I lose the battle.”

“Sucks for you,” he laughed.

“I lost York Castle, goddammit!” I cried, facetiously.

“This is why I play as the English.”

“Of course, you’d say that, ya noob. They're overpowered as fuck. Though, I’m not surprised,” I said, shrugging my shoulders playfully. “Tasha spoiled ya with ‘em musicals she dragged ya to back in the day.”

“Hey, don’t diss musicals. One of these days, you’ll understand their sophistication, their _qualité intemporelle_.”

“Oh god, you’s speaking french, too?” I moaned. “I’m gonna have to arrest Tasha for stealing ya damn balls.”

“When this shit eventually ends, I’m definitely taking you to a musical. How’s a good ole romance like _On the Town_ sound?”

“Never!” I said. “The day I’m dragged to a musical is the day I get shot again.”

I laughed; Marcus grew quiet. I clicked my tongue and placed my hands on my hips.

“Ah, c’mon, it's been weeks, Marcus. It ain’t too soon for a good ole joke.”

“Something like that doesn't just go away,” Marcus said, lowering his voice. “I still get nightmares sometimes of you not making it. It hurts thinking of what ifs.”

I blushed, feeling a little embarrassed and self-conscious. I lowered my head, fidgeting with my belt.

“Ya’know, I appreciate ya words, Marcus. They mean the world to me knowing ya feelin’s.”

I looked up. My gaze softened as I raised my hand to pinch his cheek.

“But don’tcha grow soft on me. I need ya to take the big hits for me.”

He looked down at me with analytical eyes. I gave him a reassuring grin as I released his cheek. Eventually, after a few goofy looks and stupid poses, he smiled back, ruffling my hair playfully as he did. With both of us reassured, we reached the end of the hall. Walking downstairs to the basement level, we headed down another equally long and crowded hallway. To our left and right were rooms filled with all sorts of goodies and important things. The one that we were interested in was the armory. It was at the end of the hall. Apparently, we’d have to get some new equipment for our patrols now. Instead of just heading out, we’d have to suit up. I mentally rolled my eyes.

“This blows,” I moaned.

“Not excited for patrol?” Marcus joked, mocking surprise. “I'm shocked.”

“Yup,” I sighed, blowing air.

To make sure I would behave, the Captain had me on desk duty for the past three days. Now that my ‘parole’ had ended, I was free to join my squad for patrols again. This would be my first since my injury from the bombing back in July. But even now, I knew our patrols were different. For one thing, we’ve been reassigned to rotating night and day shifts; it fucked up my sleep schedule. It was nine thirty-two right now and the sun had already set. Nothing was worse than doing a police patrol at night. You can’t see shit. I frowned then sighed. I crossed my arms as I turned my head to Marcus.

“Man, after three days of desk duty, I know I said I could use a change of pace but this is ridiculous. Night patrol? How’s patrols been?”

“Fine, at least during the day. Night’s pretty busy. Been pretty quiet up north but everything south of the station is shit.”

“Why’s that?” I questioned.

“Things in the park have gone to shit. Believe it or not, people don’t like being corralled into an internment camp like a can of sardines. The north’s been seized by the National Guard. Everything south of us is quarantine.”

“Ah shit, I would’ve never guessed,” I gasped, sarcastically. “And I thought those armed guards were the welcomin’ committee.”

“Well, anyway, everyone’s on edge. We got over a hundred thousand people in Central Park at any given time. Everyone’s got a short fuse. One spark and this whole shit blows.”

“Let’s hope we don’t step on too many toes then,” I said.

“Agreed.”

We stepped to the side of the hall. A squad of National Guardsmen passed us.

“You’d think with the National Guard around things’d be a bit easier.”

“With all the shit happening outside the zones, we need all the help we can get. We’re trying to control a city of eight and a half million and at any moment, someone goes crazy and kills his family or shoots up a military checkpoint.”

“So why do we gotta suit up every dang time we’re on patrol now? This is Manhattan. We haven’t had a psycho case here and it's been months since this shit started. The Redeemers have been squished here, too, so what’s all the hubbub.”

“I already explained, Morgan,” Marcus explained. “You want to get shot? Is wearing a vest and carrying a rifle so bad?”

“Eh, whatever. Can I at least use the SMGs?”

“Those are for close-quarter situations, Morgan,” Marcus corrected. “We’re on foot patrol so we need longer range. But if you want to take it up with the captain.”

I waved him off, “eh, that’s too much work.”

“Then suck it up,” he winked. “I’m sure a carbine will be fine for you.”

“Agh, fine,” I resigned. “Let’s just get our shit and get goin’.”

Entering the room, I found myself in a large gray concrete expanse. The walls had large metal tables with piles of equipment on them. To our right were a stack of electronics, headsets, radios, that sort. Another had ballistic armor and another with stacks of rifle mags and ammo cases. Turning I saw several other officers gearing up. One of them turned to us.

“You guys on foot patrol?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Where ya stationed at?”

“We’ve been cycled for Quarantine Site Twenty down at the Lincoln Center. You?”

“We got the Northern perimeter of the camp,” Marcus said.

“You best be careful of there then. Apparently, yesterday they’ve quarantined some buildings up there so a lot of no-shows and squatters are out on the streets.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Marcus nodded.

Crossing the room, I went to one of the tables. I unclasped my radio and placed it and the mic on the table. I took one of the black vests in my hand; it was pretty light. I flipped it around. ‘Police’ was stitched to the back. I was lost in the white print when a loud clanging next to me startled me. I looked down and to my left. On the table was two thick and slightly curved ceramic plates with the words ‘Level III’ printed on them. I looked up. Marcus gave me a small smile.

“Here you go,” he said.

“Level III? Isn’t that for rifle rounds? I thought we were assigned the IIIA?”

“Do I have to say it?”

I cocked my head feigning confusion. Marcus sighed.

“I’m kiddin’. I'm just pullin’ ya leg,” I said, waving off his concerns. “I know what ya mean. We already had our buddy cop moment so don'tcha get all sappy on me, will ya?”

I blew a raspberry as Marcus leaned against the table.

“Does it bother you that I’m worried?”

“Of course not. It’s sweet of you, big guy,” I said, playfully elbowing him in the side. “But remember, Marcus, I ain’t some kid that needs someone to tell me it’s dangerous. I already had someone like that once.”

I felt Marcus ruffle my hair. I felt lighter all of a sudden.

“Keep that up and I’ll fall for ya,” I joked, faking the expression of a love-struck girl. “I don’t think Tasha’d like that.”

“C’mon, Gorilla, we should hurry up,” he smirked.

I nodded. Silence returned as we suited up. Marcus had been at this more than me so he was done fairly quickly. We already were assigned heavy-duty combat boots and tactical gloves so I didn’t have to bother with those piles. I took a helmet from the wall and placed it on a table. I took a few pistol mags and tucked them away in my belt pouches. Crossing the room, I stopped in front of the weapon’s rack. There was a wide assortment of AR and Colt rifles for us. I grabbed the shortest one I could find, an M4A1 Carbine. It was only seven and a half pounds when loaded with a telescopic stock and select fire. It was a good half foot shorter than the AR so it was the best fit for me. I attached a fore grip and a low-light enhancing sight on it. Finished, I took it and placed it on the table next to me.

“Hurry up, Morgan!” Marcus shouted.

I looked over my shoulder. His head was peeking through the threshold of the door. “Taylor and Carlson are waiting for us.”

“I know, I know. Shaddap, ya big oaf!” I snapped, lifting the large ballistic plate from the metal table. “These fuckin’ plates are heavier than I thought.”

“It’s not that heavy.”

Headquarters had sent us a good number of these ESU tactical vests that SWAT’s been using. According to Marcus, every patrol unit’s been required to wear this tactical gear before they go out of the clean zones. Before, we’d wear this shit only during rough times like during major holidays but now it was everyday. Well shit, I thought our standard vests would be sufficient seeing as they’d stop most small arms. Who the fuck would be packing point three-oh-eights? Did these fuckers that were breaking into houses and fighting the National Guard on Long Island actually using that kind of firepower? Sure the army was here but they’ve always been sending unnecessary firepower for little things. SWAT’s been sent on prank calls for crying out loud. These freaking vests were rated up to damn military-grade firearms. I didn’t like the prospect of having to wear a vest and get shot at with a rifle. I felt more like a target with this thing on than without it. Sliding the ballistic plates into their sleeves and velcroing them tight, I lifted the heavy vest and put it on over my uniform. With it on, I felt like I was wearing my old high school backpack. The ballistic plates on the front and back each weighed about that of a standard textbook. Great, I’d be huffing and puffing if we had to do a foot chase. At least, they were lighter than our Riot gear. Turning from the stack of ballistic vests, I took a few rifle magazines and tucked them into the pouches strapped to the vest. Clipping my radio to belt and the mic on my shoulder, I look myself in the wall mirror behind me. I shook my head. It looked like I was in SWAT for crying out loud being clad in all black and navy blue. Fuck that, I looked like a kid wearing their dad’s oversized clothes with all this on. You’d think they’d have something more my size. Putting on my helmet, I turned back to Marcus.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I called out. “You’s ready, Private Simpson?”

Marcus laughed, saluting me, facetiously.

“It ain’t so bad, Sir,” he said, emphasizing my ‘rank.’

“We look like we’re ready to storm some terrorist compound, not patrol Harlem.”

“Better we look like some jarheads than some dead mooks. Alright, let’s go then,” Marcus replied, clipping his helmet strap.

I nodded and grabbed my rifle from the table. I pulled the strap over my shoulder and diagonally across my chest in the standard over-strong-shoulder carry so the rifle was hanging in front of me for easy access. Gripping the hand grip, I checked it again to make sure the safety was on and the pin was still in and a round was in the chamber. Crossing the room, I entered the hallway and followed Marcus. It was crowded all to hell. Officers wearing the same gear as us were running up and down the hall and suits frantic in their step. We walked down the hall towards the front exit.

“This carbine’s fine and all but a submachine gun seems way more reasonable to me than a damn assault rifle,” I complained.

“A pipsqueak like you holding something like that is hilarious,” Marcus laughed, pointing to my rifle.

“Is every day gonna be like this? Wearin’ this shit? I miss the good ole’ days when we’d just be wearing our regular uniforms and caps lazing around in our cruiser.”

“Well, I’d feel a bit safer with more than just our uniforms out there, Morgan,” Marcus said. “Patrols are a lot more ‘exciting’ than they used to be.”

“That’s the problem,” I moaned, adjusting the chafing rifle strap. “I’m startin’ to miss desk duty.”

“Now that’s scary,” Marcus laughed.

“Eh, whatever,” I waved off.

Entering the lobby, we were bombarded with the sounds of our new work environment. A steady stream of armed men came through with handcuffed screaming people in tow. One woman locked eyes with me. Her eyes, there was an emptiness to them that was disconcerting. She snarled at me and tried to spit on me through her gag.

“Careful, Morgan,” Marcus warned. “Who knows how this thing spreads.”

“I thought we didn’t have any psycho cases.”

“That’s just some junkie,” a passing soldier said. “She tried to grab a guard’s gun.”

“Shit, get a bunch of junkies in one place and ya askin’ for trouble.”

The soldier nodded in agreement before walking passed us.

We exited the building. The bright beams of flood lights above made it feel like we were in a stadium at night. While the sky above was black and clear, it was still brightly lit around us, at least along the road and in the camp. The skyscrapers were mostly dark with a few windows here and there lit. The army had set up large flood lights like the ones used at a stadium all along the roads running through and along the perimeter of the camp. They made sure to keep the camps lit all night, much to the disdain of those living inside. Military Humvees were driving past the station and soldiers with flashlights on their helmets walked past. Across Eighty-fifth Transverse, a fence that was not there before a month ago ran on both sides of the road. It was at least fifteen feet high with barbed wire atop with the chain link covered with sheets of heavy plastic tarp, some translucent and others a bright blue. There were even several watch towers in the distance with armed guards.

I snickered to myself, gravely. The only real difference at first glance between us and the soldiers around was the fact that we weren’t wearing camo.

“I miss our cruisers,” I said. “I don’t wanna walk.”

“They’d be swiss cheese,” Marcus replied. “C’mon, let’s get going. You need the exercise from sitting on your ass for the past month.”

“Eh, shaddap, ya big oaf.”

He laughed, descended the steps. I followed closely behind. On the road out front, two men clad in the same equipment as us were standing. It was Taylor and Carlson was next to him. Taylor’s cool steel-blue eyes looking up to us.

“Yo,” Marcus smiled. “Sorry for the wait.”

“It’s cool,” Carlson replied, adjusting his helmet. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind waiting for our patrol.”

“What’s wrong?”

Carlson’s brown eyes looked from me to Marcus and then back to the ground.

“I’m scared for my wife,” he confessed, his voice quivering. “I want to be with her right now.”

I was shocked. I had never seen Carlson show this much emotion. I could see it in his eyes. He always seemed the strong silent type. To see him this nervous and uncertain was a bit alarming, to say the least.

“John, she’s in good hands,” Taylor said, placing his hand on Carlson’s shoulder. “Having her stay with her family was the right thing to do.”

“I know. But she’s all the way in Houston and I’m here. I—I just want to see her face.”

“I know, John, I know. But c’mon. We got a job to do. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Taylor smiled. “Brenda would kill me.”

We laughed; Carlson was quiet. After a minute, Carlson nodded. He looked up and gave a meek smile through his mask.

“That’s if Casey doesn’t first. Thanks, Rick.”

I turned to Marcus, making a stupid grin.

“I won’t let anythin’ happen to ya, either, buddy,” I teased, leaning against his arm and making swirls with my finger.

Marcus karate chopped the top of my head with a loud bonk. I squeaked as my head rattled. Taylor and Carlson laughed.

“Thanks for the laugh, Morgan,” Carlson smiled.

I rolled my eyes, flicking my wrist.

“What’re we waiting for? Shouldn't we be walkin’? A Hundred and Tenth’s a long walk from here,” I said.

Taylor smirked, “to think Morgan’s eager to go on patrol.”

“The world really is ending,” Carlson snickered.

“Hmmph,” I pouted, walking ahead of them. The sounds of their footsteps followed closely behind. I turned on the flashlight mounted on my rifle. The others did so too with their beams occasionally lighting my back or the area in front as we walked. The loudspeakers around droned out words that were what we’ve already been aware of.

_Stay in a single and orderly line as you are screened and processed. Once you are processed and cleared, you will report to a supply tent and given your provisions for the day. Do as you are told by your corresponding FEMA official and everything will go smooth and swiftly. Keep your hands to yourselves, violence will not be tolerated. Martial Law is in effect. Stay in a single and orderly—_

I stopped paying attention. It was all nothing but the same shit over and over again. Orders for the civilians in the camp to follow were being barked out and the constant murmur of people on the other side of the fence spoke truth to the lies on the news. Things weren’t getting any better, not by a long shot. I turned to look at the fence to my right. I saw guys in pretty bad shape shuffling in a line. A man in a hazmat suit scanned them before pointing them to a white ration tent. Shit, life here must suck. No wonder why there’s so much tension in the air. I could practically cut it with a knife.

After a few minutes of walking down Eighty-fifth, we reached Fifth Avenue. The entire street was abandoned. Everything had changed. Fifth Avenue was one of the busiest streets in all of Manhattan and now here it was, a freaking ghost town. The wind blew and sent a few sheets of paper and trash fluttering around. Only the occasional Humvee or flash beams of a foot patrol could be seen in the distance. A lot of military units were patrolling along the electrified fence around Central Park. Shaking my head, I noticed the flashlight beams were no longer behind me. The others had gone on ahead up Fifth in an echelon formation. I ran to catch up to them. On occasion, they would flash their flashlights into the darkness of the buildings and alleys outside the park; hungry dugs and cats stirred in the darkness with their reflective eyes staring back. It was very eerie walking around. New York’s not supposed to be this dark. While the street we were on was lit from the floodlights, everything a hundred feet away was dark since electricity had been cut in most in the buildings. I turned back from the inky blackness of the night to my front. The guys were chatting about something as I caught up diagonal to Marcus on the far left.

“You think we’ll find anything today?” Carlson asked.

“I don’t know. I just want this patrol to go smoothly as the last one.”

“I feel bad for the others. They got the South perimeter.”

“They’re probably swamped,” Carlson said.

“Damon was so pissed when Patterson briefed us on it,” Taylor chuckled.

“Thin’s are pretty bad there, huh?” I added.

Taylor looked over his shoulder.

“Yeah, things have been getting heated in the camp. Since it started, civilians have been required to report to the camp for screenings. After a forty-eight hour period of quarantine, they’re were supposed to be allowed to return to their homes,” Taylor explained. “When they extended the time to seventy-two hours, things have been getting worse.”

“So what exactly are we’re looking for?” I asked. “Besides looters and shit.”

“Recently, we’ve been dealing with people under quarantine trying to escape from the camp,” Carlson said. “We don’t know how it spreads so we’re to detain anyone that doesn’t submit the proper paperwork.”

“Sounds pretty ‘big brother’,” I said, troubled.

“Well with Martial Law in effect, what do you expect?” Taylor said. “We were lucky enough to continue working instead of having our role taken over completely by the Army. If it was the military they’d probably get shot as soon as they escape.”

I nodded gravely to myself as we continue walking. After a while, we reached Duke Ellington circle. As soon as we reached the turnabout, we split. Marcus and I were walking on the left lane of West a Hundred and Tenth Street while Carlson and Taylor had the right. We began our grid patrol west along the road. Another patrol passed us dragging a dirty-clothed man in handcuffs towards a tall brick building with armed guards standing at the facade. We were passing the Lincoln Correctional Facility, a former minimum-security prison now converted to a temporary holding center. He must have been a camp escapee or vagrant from the looks of it. Reaching the intersection of Malcolm X Boulevard and a Hundred and Tenth, I heard my and Marcus’s radio go off. I could hear Carlson and Taylor’s radios were going off as well from across the street. The radio was emitting nothing but static. I turned the knobs to clear the signal.

“Ten-five, repeat.”

“Marcus, Marcus, do you read me?”

It was Patterson.

“Pattie? It’s Morgan. What’cha blabberin’ on ‘bout?” I asked, playfully into my mic. “This better be important.”

“Watch your mouth, Morgan,” he chided. “Or I’ll have you back on desk duty.”

“Yes, Sir!” I saluted, goofily.

“What’s the matter?” Marcus asked into his mic. “Did something happen?”

“We have a situation on our hands.”

“Something back in camp?” Taylor added.

“Negative. I got a call a few minutes ago. The Twenty-eighth Precinct has an emergency at the Taft Houses on Fifth. Apparently, it’s a domestic incident. They’re requesting all available patrols nearby to assist.”

“Hah? That doesn’t make any sense. If it's a domestic incident why are we being called up?” I asked. “Let the Twenty-eight deal with it themselves.”

“I would if it was just that. They’re spread thin quarantining buildings not to mention the Public Housing gangs and widespread looting north of your position. I got a call from the Captain. Apparently, the military’s involved, too. The army had quarantined the apartment complex earlier tonight.”

No one spoke as it sunk in. Then Marcus cleared his throat.

“Tell them we’re on our way.”

“Already did, you’ll all being assigned to assist the 1st Battalion, 69th Infantry Regiment in whatever capacity they require of you,” Patterson said.

“Copy that,” Carlson said.

“Got it!” Taylor shouted. “We’ll head there now.”

I exhaled, “Wait, wait, wait! Hold the phone. Why are we reportin’ to some army schmucks? What about the patrol?”

“We’re under the army’s command right now, Morgan. Whatever they say, we have to do.”

“Fuck, that’s bullshit!”

“Keep this channel open,” Patterson said, ignoring my complaints. “Keep me in the loop and Morgan. Don’t fuck around.”

“Ten-four,” Marcus said with a smirk.

“Well let’s go,” Taylor said, waving for us to cross the street. “It’s just a little walk from here.”

“On second thought, I wouldn’t mind goin’ on patrol. Fuck this shit,” I deflated.

“Agreed,” the guys said.

Adjusting my rifle to be more comfortable in my hands, Marcus turned to me.

“We should probably circle back to the Circle and head up from Fifth.”

“Sounds good,” Taylor nodded. “Let’s keep an eye out, though.”

“I’m not liking the sound of this,” Carlson confessed. “We got a psycho case here? Doesn’t that mean the quarantine failed? If people hear about this, panic will spread like crazy.”

“It’s still unconfirmed,” Marcus said, taking the lead. “You know how things are now. Some guy gets a little angry and they drag him out for aggression.”

“What the hell could it be?” Taylor questioned to no one in particular. “It spreads like a virus but it’s more like schizophrenia.”

“Is that even possible? A contagious mental illness?”

I frowned, beginning to feet a little of.

“So, um, what are the symptoms exactly?”

I began walking slower so I was at the back. I looked down at my gloved hands.

“Well, from what we’ve been briefed on, the people that have been detained have been experienced hallucinations and paranoia.”

I felt myself beginning to sweat under my clothes.

“Is that so,” I uttered, scratching my cheek.

“Yeah, apparently the person begins hearing voices in their head and seeing shit. Then they start itching all over and bleeding this gross black shit before they start attacking. They’re like—”

“Don’t finish that,” Marcus said, “There no way in hell something that ridiculous is the cause.”

“But think about, they start attacking people and trying to bite them. What else could it be besides zombies.”

I sneezed.

“Bless you,” Taylor said.

“Anyway, all I’m saying is it's getting dicey out there. Zombie or not.”

I wiped my nose with my sleeve. I took a deep breath as we continued towards Fifth.

“Any other symptoms?”

“You seem interested in this, Morgan,” Taylor smirked. “Starting to care about work?”

“Hehe, like hell I am,” I chuckled, nervously, fidgeting with my rifle. “Just curious is all.”

“Well if you start hearing voices in your head let me know,” Carlson laughed.

I didn’t return the gesture. My voice was caught in my throat.

“So how long exactly does this thing take to surface?” I asked.

“Not sure, the CDC’s recommended a standard three-day quarantine in case.”

“It seems random but I heard it takes about a day or two when they start hearing voices to go completely berserk.”

I took a breath, relieved. I was way past the symptom timeline. Finally, we reached Fifth. Turning to our left, we continued up north towards the Taft Houses in Harlem. The street was exceptionally dark since it was beyond the floodlights of the clean zone. Our destination, the fairly unremarkable red brick apartment complex, was just down the road. From here, we could already see where we were heading. Along Fifth and a Hundred and Twelfth just two streets north, piercing the gloom was an island of light. The whole area around the Taft Houses was lit with the car lights of parked police cruisers and stage lights set up around a military field tent on the street. There must have been two hundred plus people here, both civilians and government agents. A large crowd of residents dressed in their nightwear stood in the cool night air with the military and police keeping them a block from the building which was obscured by trees and the gloom of night. The blinking red and blue of the cruisers flashed through the halo of white light around the military tent and passed into the gloom of the darkness beyond where we were walking in. Radio chatter, our footsteps and the distant murmur of people echoed in the soft breeze. As we approached the crowd, Marcus took a flashlight from his pocket and waved the beam. A soldier on a Humvee noticed us and motioned for others to clear a path for us. As we approached, I noticed signs; the black and yellow checkered pattern of quarantine captured my attention. The soldiers were wearing gas masks. I couldn’t see their eyes behind the tinted visors. We walked past the crowd; their faces were far from welcoming. The best we could get was a tired, indifferent gaze. The sounds were deafening. People had to shout over one another to hear anything.

“Officer Marcus Simpson, Central Park Precinct-NYPD!” Marcus saluted.

“Staff Sergeant Rodriguez, 1st Battalion, 69th Infantry Regiment-New York National Guard,” the soldier responded, saluting Marcus. “You must be here for the Major, correct?”

‘We were told to help out in whatever we can.”

“I see. Then you will want to speak to the Major. She’s in the field tent behind me,” the soldier shouted, pointing over his shoulder to an OD green tent. “She’ll tell you where to go.”

“Thanks,” Marcus said.

The soldier nodded. “She’s the only woman in the tent, you can’t miss her.”

“Thanks a lot,” Taylor said, walking past us and down Fifth. “C’mon, guys.”

Carlson followed closely behind.

“Don’t cause too much trouble, alright, Morgan?” Carlson laughed.

“Eh shove it, Carlson,” I pouted, following behind.

“Good luck.”

We walked passed the soldier. As we did, they moved a crowd control barrier to close off the perimeter again. As we walked towards the tent, the apartment that was involved became obvious very quickly. Searchlights were aimed up and at it. The apartment was about twenty stories tall with a covered walkway out front on the sidewalk. It was by itself fairly unremarkable to the other apartments around, at least before tonight. What caught my eye was the thing that made it stand out beside the lights. The entire building from top to bottom was covered in plastic tarp and wrapped in tape. The red bricks were now shrouded by translucent white. Seeing this sight, I groaned.

“Ah shit, Marcus,” I groaned. “Why do we always gotta go where the shit is deepest?”

Taylor and Carlson snickered.

“C’mon, Morgan,” he grinned. “You wanna live forever?”

“I’d rather live a few more decades, alright,” I shot back in a half-joking and half-panicking manner. “I mean look at it! They freakin’ plastic wrapped the whole damn apartment. This is a no-show if I ever saw one, Marcus. I recognize this nonsense as well as I can recognize Katz’s pastrami sandwiches blindfolded and corks up my nose.”

Taylor snorted, having to lean on Carlson’s shoulder.

“I’ve seen a movie like this once, Marcus. And it didn’t end well for the people in it.”

“You don’t say,” he said, amused. “So what happened?”

I knew he was being playful but I was seriously freaking out right now.

“In the movie, two cops went in on a ‘routine domestic incident’ exactly what we got called for. Then went in and ya’know what happened to them?”

Marcus looked at me amused.

“Tell me, Morgan? What happened?” He smirked, skeptically.

“Dead. Flat out, balls to the wall, blonde slut and black guy in a horror film, dead! They got wasted by some monsters inside.”

Taylor snorted in amusement.

“Ooh, spooky,” he chuckled.

“I know what’s gonna happen. Taylor and Carlson are gonna be assigned crowd control while we’s gonna be asked to investigate or somethin’ and boom, we’re a midnight snack for whatever’s in there.”

Marcus chuckled, patting me on the helmet.

“You need to lay off the horror flicks,” he said.

“I’m being serious,” I whined. “Every time we’s call up, somethin’ shitty happens… to me. Either I get blown up or—”

“Relax, Morgan,” Marcus assured, his tone becoming serious for a moment. “Remember? I’ll take the big hits. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

“Morgan?” A voice called out.

I stopped in my tracks, recognizing the voice. I smiled from ear to ear and whipped around. A woman with short blonde hair wearing a long coat greeted my eyes. I felt my anxiety lessen quickly. I turned around.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, we have to talk to the Major.”

“Just wait here, okay?” I said, turning back to the woman.

I ran to her as she opened her arms for me.

“Murph!” I cheered, grabbing onto her and lifting her off the ground.

She groaned as I squeezed her tight, twirling her in the air like a kid.

“Okay, enough, Morgan,” she gasped. “I’m gonna be sick.”

I placed her back onto the ground. I couldn’t be happier right now to see her. All the fear and anxiety had all but dissipated now.

“Jezz, I see ya still as strong as ever,” she grinned, taking a breath.

I gave a thumbs up and winked at the taller woman.

“Ya’know me, Murph!” I grinned. “Oh god, it’s so great to see ya. It’s been forever.”

“It has. How are you feeling? I see your eye is… well different.”

“It’s just a weird side effect or somethin’. Nothin’ to worry ‘bout. I’m fine, that bomb blast couldn’t stop me,” I laughed. “How ya been? We haven’t talked at all since ya came back from Pennsylvania.”

She paused for a moment but then she spoke.

“It was… interesting to say the least. The client was very happy with my success so I decided to take some time and travel.”

I frowned, hurt a little.

“Ya should have called at least once in awhile. I was hurt when I heard you’s got married and didn’t invite me. I felt like you’s were ignorin’ me.”

She nodded, remorseful.

“I’m sorry. I know I should have. A lot happened with… that job so I guess I just needed to get away from everything. From everyone.”

“Except for him, eh?” I winked, wiggling my hips.

Murphy punched me in arm. I laughed at her weak punch and hugged her again. Releasing her from my vice-like grip, I pulled out a candy bar from my pocket.

“It’s a little warm but it should still be good,” I said, handing her the chocolate.

She took it and ruffled my hair.

“Thanks, Pipsqueak.”

“When Katz’s opens again you’s buying.”

“You got it,” she smiled, pressing her forehead to mine.

The guys walked towards us.

“Who’s this?” Marcus asked, confused.

“Ah, I forgot. I never introduced you guys to her, did I? Guys, this is Murphy Marlowe, she’s an old friend of mine from way back in the day. She’s a private investigator. Murphy, these are my squad mates Taylor and Carlson and my partner, Marcus. We’ve been together since I graduated from the academy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marcus said.

“The pleasure's all mine,” Murphy replied, shaking their hands. “I get to finally meet the man keeping my girl outta of trouble.”

“Your girl?” Marcus asked with a smirk.

I laughed, shyly, scratching the back of my head.

“Well, it’s kind of a long story. She and I went to high school together,” I explained. “And well, um, how do I say this.”

“I got this, Morgan. Ahem, I had the hots for the little pipsqueak here for the longest,” Murphy confessed with a grin.

She placed her hands on my shoulders as if to present me to Marcus.

"When I realized I could never get her to like me like that, seeing as her type is big and strong older men,” she teased. “I decided to be friends with her. Now that I’m married, Morgan’s safe… for the most part.”

She smacked me in the ass I punched her in the arm, eliciting a sharp yelp from her

“Did ya have to see all of that?” I shout-whispered, blushing in embarrassment. “And hands off the ass, I need that.”

Carlson whispered something in Taylor’s ear. Taylor snickered.

“Hehe, I ship it,” he whispered.

“We’ve been friends ever since! See, Marcus! I do have friends outside of work! ” I exclaimed, proudly.

“The bestest!” Murphy grinned widely.

I placed a hand on her opposite shoulder and she did the same around my waist. We were in a triumphant side hug. Our collective friendship must have shined a little too brightly because Marcus was swatting away our good vibes like he would mosquitos. Marcus looked at us, unamused.

“What’s with this idiot friendship? God, what am I going to tell him?” Marcus uttered, his face in his hands. “That he’s got a female rival now?”

I raised an eyebrow in confusion He waved me off. I blew a raspberry, turning back to Murphy.

“So what are ya doin’ here?” I asked.

“A client’s niece is in that apartment. I’m to retrieve her. So right now I’m waiting around.”

“How did you get inside the police perimeter?” Marcus said. “You’re a civilian.”

“I have my ways,” she grinned, knowingly. “Being married to a military man has its perks.”

“Ya haven’t changed a bit,” I laughed.

Murphy’s smile faded for a moment but then she smirked.

“I could say the same for you. You still single?”

I gave an awkward chuckle. She gave a hearty and throaty laugh.

“Shaddup,” I pouted.

“Well, it’s great to see you, too, Morgan,” she smiled.

“Yeah, I was scared since you live in Brooklyn that somethin’ happened to ya.”

“Once I saw the first case I told my husband to get us the fuck outta there.”

“Where’s he right now?”

“He’s been on the USS George Washington on and off for maintenance duty. Last time we talked, last week, he’s still on it.”

“Well, that’s good that he’s out of this shithole,” I nodded.

“I’m just waiting for the first evacs out of this place,” Murphy laughed. “Once the first bird lands, I’m outta here.”

“You’s better save me a spot,” I chuckled, winking.

“Count on it,” she grinned, winking back.

“Um, Murphy, mind if we borrow Morgan?” Marcus asked. “We’re on the clock right now.”

“Be my guest,” she smiled, pushing me towards Marcus. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Call me later, okay?” I said. “My number’s the same as it was last time ya called.”

She nodded.

“C’mon, Morgan.”

I waved him off as we walked to the tent. A soldier saluted us before opening it to allow us to enter. Around a metal table, several men and a woman in fatigues were gathered around talking amongst each other.

“Excuse me, we’re here for the Major.”

The woman turned to us. She was in her thirties and had her brown hair in a bun.

“I’m Major Greene. You must be the officers I requested.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Officer Simpson and this is my partner, Officer Morgan, and my squad mates, Officers Carlson and Taylor, Central Park Precinct-NYPD,” Marcus saluted.

“At ease,” the woman smiled. “You aren’t military so I don’t expect you to be so formal.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Good, I didn’t have to stand so straight.

“So what’s the sitrep?” Taylor asked.

“Thirteen minutes past Eighteen hundred hours, the Twenty-eighth precinct received a routine noise complaint, loud screaming and banging.”

“A Ten-fifty, eh?” I nodded.

“Yes. Two officers of the Twenty-eighth were dispatched to the apartment of the Lewis family on the sixteenth floor. Once they arrived, they radioed their station. The subsequent confrontation with the father resulted in no radio communication with the officers for approximately forty-five minutes. At five past Nineteen-hundred hours, one of the officers’ radios went off but it was a jumbled mess. They’ve been missing ever since.”

I checked my watch. It was Ten-fifteen now.

“That was three hours ago.”

She sighed and took off her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“After the precinct called for support believing it to be a suspected case, we were dispatched to secure the area. Since they could not verify its cause, we had assumed it was related to the Long Island Psychosis cases. After completing the sealing it an hour ago, we requested backup.”

“Backup? Why ya need us? You’s the army, aren'tcha?”

“We’re spread thin, Officer,” she replied, turning to me. “This is not just happening here in New Yor. Miami is quarantined, Tampa, Boston, Baltimore, Richmond, Charleston, Lexington, Newark, Pittsburgh they’ve all been quarantined. And that’s just the cities above a hundred thousand and in the same if not worst state than us. Miami, for instance, has been completely sealed off.”

I froze. Was it this spread out?

“At any given time, we have five hundred active searches being mounted here in the city plus monitoring of the thousands of quarantine sites and clean zones across the country. That’s why we need you guys to augment and assist us in these things.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” Carlson asked.

“We’re sending in a health inspector to inspect all the residents in the building.”

“Everyone? That’s like a hundred plus people,”  I said.

“Weren’t they evacuated? If it was just one apartment that was involved why keep everyone else there? Wouldn’t whatever this is spread?” Marcus asked.

“That’s the problem. If we did evacuate everyone, and one so happened to be infected, they might slipped away. We need to keep them inside until they’re vetted and secured.”

“And that’s where we come in?” Carlson asked.

“Yes. That’s where your four come in,” she said, handing us each a gas mask and Marcus a slip of paper.

We put them on. I inserted a thick canister to the side-mounted port with a hiss. I tapped the hard plastic visors covering my eyes.

“That paper has the apartment number. I can’t spare any more men from the perimeter or from HQ so I’m having your four escort the inspector inside and keep him safe while he checks on the residents. Once he’s working, I want two of you to investigate the apartment and find out what happened to the two officers and neutralize any possible threats whether this is or is not a case of psychosis. Lethal force is authorized.”

I gulped then turned to Marcus.

“See, what’d I tell you? We’re fucked,” I asked, my voice distorted by my mask. “Oh, cool. I sound like Darth Vader.”

He waved me off, rolling my eyes. I raised my hand to force choke him.

“Marcus, I am your mother,” I said, making loud breathing sounds.

Suddenly, the radio on the table went off. The woman picked it up.

“Major Greene-1st Battalion, 69th Infantry Regiment-New York National Guard, speaking. Status?”

“The CDC officer has arrived.”

“Copy that, over,” she said, turning to us. “He’s all yours.”

We saluted her before exiting the tent. A man in a white hazmat suit with a full-face respirator and oxygen tank on his back was standing outside. He looked like he was getting ready to go fumigate a house. He turned to us and waved a gloved hand.

“Greetings,” he said, cheerfully. “You must be my backup.”

“Yes Sir, that’s us,” Marcus said.

“Great, I feel a lot better,” he exhaled. “I saw this in a movie once.”

I clapped my hands and cheered, vindicated.

“I know right?! This shit blows. See I told you, Marcus.”

“Ready when you are, Sir,” Marcus said, ignoring my triumphant pose.

“Okay, follow me.”

The inspector began to walk towards the sealed building, a flashlight and clipboard in hand. Marcus followed behind with me, Taylor and Carlson in tow. Reaching the sealed door, two soldiers turned to open the door with their weapons drawn.

We stepped inside. The foyer was dimly lit, a flickering bulb above was all we had besides our high-beam flashlights. The lobby was packed with people in their nightwear. As soon as we entered, the hundred or so people stood up. They looked tired. Some had been crying from their bloodshot eyes. There was a lot of kids.

“I am the health inspector. I’m going to examine each person here. Once I am done examining you, one of these officers will escort you from the building.”

A collective murmur erupted from his words. We formed a bow-shaped formation in front of the inspector.

“I will begin from left to right so form a semicircle around the lobby and stay in your family units.”

“What the hell, We’ve been here for hours,” a belligerent man in a tank top and boxers shouted.

Marcus shifted his position. I could feel the man’s anger from here as if it was bad breath. Shaking my head, I held my rifle in my hand, no longer in a resting position.

“ _Min fadlik_ , Husayn, let the man talk,” a woman wearing a hijab pleaded, holding onto the man’s arm.

The man exhaled and nodded.

“I’m sorry for shouting,” he apologized. “ _As-salamu alaykum_.”

“Peace be upon you, as well,” the inspector said back. Now everyone please remain calm. The smoother we can get this done, the faster. There’s nothing to fear. You’re safe down here.”

“What the hell happened? A man asked. “Why are they keeping us in here?”

“Relax, Sir,” the inspector pleaded. “This is all for your safety.”

“Bullshit! You’ve sealed this entire building. What’s happening?”

A woman, thin and gaunt stood up.

“What’s going to happen to us?” She asked, frightened.

“I’m just going to do a preliminary screen. Shouldn’t take more than a minute a person. After that, one of the officers here will take you outside. You’ll stay in the Central Park Clean Zone so we can do a more thorough examination and monitor you for symptoms. Once you have passed, you can return home. Let’s just relax, take a deep breath. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Bullshit!” A voice shot out.

I turned to the nose. A man by the staircase stood up. He was pointing accusatively at us.

“I heard what you do to the sick, you shoot them and bury them in mass graves!”

“Yeah, I heard it too,” another man shouted. “I heard that’s what they’re burning out on Governor's Island.

“They’re burning people alive?!”

People began to stir, frightened by these men’s words. Shit, it just takes a few fucktards to ruin everything. Things began to slow down like a dying record. I could hear my heartbeat and my breath echo. I began to notice a ringing in my ears like after a loud bang. I blinked; my vision was beginning to blur and I was losing my balance. I clutched my forehead, feeling a burning sensation begin to appear. My eyes too were stinging, a pressure on them. Exhaling, I began to grow tense. There was so much anger in the room. I could feel it in the air like smoke. So much… rage, it was bleeding into my mask. It wafted in the air like a poison that I was breathing in.

“There’s nothing like that, please remain calm,” the inspector requested. “We’re here to help.”

“I’m not going to let you cage me in and shoot me!”

“Fuck off, you damn prick!”

“Go away! Please, just go!”

“Bastard, what the hell are you doing?!”

“You’re here to inject us with the virus, aren’t you?”

“You’re trying to control our minds.”

My knees began to buckle as I clutched my head. The pain in my eye was growing worse.

“Morgan, you okay?” Taylor whispered.

“Fine,” I groaned, my voice deepening. “Just… fine.”

My eyes narrowed to an expressionless and cold gaze. It was happening again. If everyone in this room didn’t calm down, I’d—

“Let us go! Fucking let us go!”

“For God’s sake, there children here, you fucking Gestapo fucks!”

As the inspector was going to speak again, I stopped him with my hand. MY eyes were half-lidded and I felt my body move on its own. I took a step and raised my weapon aiming it at the crowd.

Everyone froze and stopped talking.

“Morgan, what the hell are you doing?!”

“It seems as if this crowd is showin’ the telltale signs of aggression, wouldn’t ya say?” I hissed, turning to guys.

I couldn’t see their faces but I knew they were troubled. My voice was smooth and lithe; I didn’t recognize it. I turned my head robotically towards the crowd again. I spotted a child in the front. She was wearing a pair of pajamas and clutching a stuffed toy. I aimed my rifle so she was in my sights.

“Remember what the Major said. Lethal force is authorized,” I snarled.

A gasp erupted in the crowd.

My eyes were cloudy and obscured; my vision became hazy and red like I was wearing hell-tinted glasses. Black tendrils from the periphery of my vision snaked forward like shadows. I blinked furiously, believing them to be my hair. They moved independently, blocking my vision but I could see it now, the truth. Their faces were distorted in vile grins; their mouths had more teeth than natural. Black fluid was oozing from their empty eye sockets. All of them, regardless of their race, had sickly pale skin over their grotesque, emaciated bodies. They cackled as they stared back at me, mocking me. The child was now a grotesque imp baring sharp needle-like teeth with hair falling from her deformed maggot-like head. My heart was pounding in my chest both at the horrific sight of hundreds of these laughing imps and from the smell of putrid fear wafting into my nose. I was beginning to feel it, too.

“Do you feel it, Advocate?” the child imp asked. “You can smell it, no? I can smell this delicious rage. Finer than the finest perfume.”

My eyes widened. That voice. It was mine. But I couldn’t tell where it was coming from despite it obviously emitting from her. It sounded like it was everywhere, inside my head, coming out of my mouth and hers, and nowhere. I gritted my teeth.

“Come forth, Advocate. Take it all in, this rage. Lay waste to the fiends of your madness.”

No, I thought. No, I—I can’t. What was I doing? The things cackled at me. Then I snapped out of it. This was just like a month ago with the protestors. I was seeing things. They were normal. This wasn’t real. I’m pointing my gun at innocent people; I was aiming a gun a fucking kid.

“Walk this path. Walk the path of your Rage.”

“No, I,” I uttered.

I felt Marcus’s hand grip my forearm so tight I began to lose feeling in my arm.

“It’s happening again, isn't it?” he asked, whispering into my ear. “Snap out of it, Morgan.”

He placed his hand on the rifle and slowly pushed down until it was pointed at the floor.

“Wake up, Morgan,” he uttered, his voice more urgent. “Wake up from this nightmare.”

I blinked. I craned my neck as exhaled, a ghastly smoke only visible to me billow out of my mouth. I inhaled again. The air was lighter now, the pressure in the air was gone and I remembered where I was. I looked up. The people’s faces were normal and the red vision I had was gone. I found my voice and spoke, and this time, I was in charge.

“Now listen up!” I shouted, growling. “The inspector is gonna examine ya. If ya have any complaints I’ll take it as evidence of infection. Got it!”

“Morgan relax, we—”

“Got it?!” I screamed.

My voice boomed through the air and cracked like a whip. The civilians didn’t speak. Any voice of dissent was quelled. As soon as I spoke, the poison of rage in the air had vanished and the pain in my eye and head disappeared. The residents gave meek nods before they formed a semicircle as the inspector ordered. They looked like scared rabbits.

“T—Take it from here, inspector,” I said, flatly and breathless. “I—I—Marcus! Let’s go check out that apartment.”

The inspector took a hesitant step before beginning his examination with the small girl. She looked absolutely terrified as she looked at me. It made me feel awful. Most of the residents began whispering to each other and paying us no attention. A few sharp glares and fearful looks were aimed towards me, more specifically to the assault rifle in my hand. I saw one man look into my eyes; I knew he saw my red left eye judging from the horrific blanching of his face.

“You two stay here and help me,” the inspector said to Taylor and Carlson.

“Carlson, Taylor, mind doing that?”

“Sure,” Taylor whispered, somber.

Marcus was curt as he looked at me. I shrank as I met his gaze. I walked away and towards the staircase at the far right end of the lobby. I stopped at the start of the staircase, about fifty feet away. I leaned against the wall so I was facing them. They were talking among themselves, about me. My ears perked up like a deer. They probably didn’t want me to hear. But for whatever reason, as far away as I was, I could hear them.

“What the fuck happened back there, Marcus?” Carlson asked, furious.

“I don’t think it’ll be good if Morgan stays here,” Taylor confessed. “I mean look at what she did? She pointed her gun at civilians. I think she even meant to pull it.”

“She’s just on edge, alright?” Marcus chided. “This situation is fucked. She’s cooled down so let’s just get this done with.”

“Everyone in this fucking city is on edge, Marcus. Doesn’t mean they’ll point their gun at children,” Carlson shot back. “I mean look at her.”

They looked over at me. I could sense their eyes were cautious in disposition. I kept a cold gaze on them, equally suspicious of them. What were they planning?

“What’s wrong with her, Marcus?” Taylor whispered. “I heard you say ‘it’s happening again’.”

Marcus sighed. “Back when she got suspended from punching Patrick Jones in the face during the anti-government rally,” Marcus explained. “She went berserk and didn’t know where she was. She blacked out. I think it might be because of the brain trauma from the car bombing.”

“Jesus Christ. Why is she working then? She’s a hair trigger.”

“You heard the Commissioner, ‘all available officers are required, no exceptions’,” Marcus hushed.

“That doesn’t mean we should have fucked up officers.”

Marcus tensed up and took a step forward.

“Look, Marcus, I know you care about Morgan. We all do. We're her squad mates, her friends for crying out loud. But she’s a liability. She’s dangerous.”

My eyes widened in surprise. Was I a danger? The hell did he mean?

“I’ve heard of brain injuries altering a person’s personality but to this degree and in a flash like that? You better keep her on a leash, Marcus. Any hiccups and this shit will blow up and we’ll be caught in the blast.”

“Agreed,” Marcus nodded, turning to follow me. “I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

I growled, aiming my rifle to let the flashlight guide me as I ascended up the dark flights. As we reached the empty second floor, I turned to Marcus. We were curt with each other, an unwelcome feeling between us.

“Nice chat, eh?” I said, my voice laden disgust.

“What happened back there?”

I lowered my gun and sighed but I didn't speak.

“You pointed your weapon at kids!” Marcus whispered loudly.

“I don’t know!” I shouted.

Marcus grew quiet. I deflated and flicked my heels, annoyed and disgusted at the whole thing and at myself.

“You're a cop, Morgan,” Marcus scolded. “You can’t panic. Look what happened. You want that?”

“Am I really? Or am I just crazy?” I mocked.

“Morgan,” Marcus called out, softly.

“Let’s just go,” I sighed.

Turning from him, I continued up the stairs. After a few steps, Marcus exhaled loudly before following me. After a few minutes, we reached the halfway mark, the sixth floor. I stopped at the sixth-floor landing. The floor was eerily quiet. The dim incandescent bulbs of the hallway barely illuminated a foot away from them, casting flickering and dancing shadows.

“Give Taylor and Carlson a call,” I said, curtly.

Marcus nodded. I could still feel he was mad at me but it was beginning to go away.

“Taylor, everything alright down there?”

“Yeah, everything's cool. How’s Morgan?”

I clicked my tongue in annoyance.

“She’s cool,” Marcus said. “Call you when we have something to report.”

“Copy that.”

We continued on in silence. As we ascended the dark stairs, the signs of strife began to become clear. Clothes and other things were scattered along the steps. We had to walk carefully to avoid them. On the fifteenth floor, splatters of blood and pistol casings were on the railing and carpeted steps.

“See that? Seems like the officers had a fight on their hands. There must be fifteen shells just here.”

“Yeah, I see it,” Marcus nodded, raising his rifle. “I’ll watch your six.”

I nodded and slowly began walking up, trying not to creak the floor. The stairs were old so it proved an insurmountable task. Reaching the Sixteenth floor, I turned to Marcus.

“You still have that paper the Major gave you?”

“Yeah, here,” Marcus said, handing me the slip.

I looked at it. The central staircase opened up to two hallways, one on either side. I checked the apartment number on the left and then the one on the right.

“The apartment we’re lookin’ for is on the right side.”

We walked down the right hall; it was the same as the others, poorly lit in a dark fiery-hue. Our flashlights were not much use despite their power. It seemed as if the gloom of the hall itself was sucking up the light. Halfway down the hall, we reached the apartment. I took the right side by the doorknob while Marcus took the left. I raised my hand and knocked on the door.

“Mister Lewis, Mister Lewis this is the NYPD,” I announced, knocking on the door. “Open the door. We need to talk.”

A minute passed and nothing.

“Mister Lewis? Is everything alright in there?” Marcus added, knocking on the door. “Answer so we know.”

Suddenly a scream tore through the air. It was from inside the apartment.

“Morgan!” Marcus ordered.

“On it!” I replied.

I stepped back and kicked in the door at the doorknob where it was weakest. The door swung open with a crash, wood splintering as it slammed the wall. I raised my rifle covering Marcus as he entered.

“The door wasn’t locked,” Marcus noted, checking the door.

“Shit,” I cursed under my breath.

I turned to look into the interior of the apartment, searching for the source of the voice. It was silent and dark. The gloom of the room was omnipresent with our flashlights barely piercing the inky darkness. I took position behind the couch of the living room while Marcus searched the open kitchen area. Whoever was inside couldn’t hide for long. I gulped as I motioned my hand for Marcus. He nodded before circling around.

“This shit smells of an ambush,” I whispered. “Who screamed?”

“Let’s search with each of us back to back so we don’t have any blind spots,” Marcus replied.

I nodded, turning around and pressing my back to Marcus.

“The kitchen clear?”

“Yeah, no one that I could see.”

“Did you check the cabinets?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s check the bedrooms,” I said, slowly inching forward towards the hallway next to the kitchen. “Where’s the damn light switch?”

I ran my hand along the smooth wall. But instead of a switch, my hands felt something sticky. I froze, my body tensing up like a rock.

“Marcus, back away from me,” I hissed. “I feel somethin’.”

Marcus took a leaping stride back into the living room and turned his flashlight on me. The wall was lit up in a cool blue-white light and I realized what it was. I was holding onto a section of intestines. They were nailed to the blood-soaked wall. My blood ran cold as ice. Marcus raised his rifle higher in increments to show the whole of the hallway. The intestines stretched upward like a long snake and onto the ceiling like streamers. Then we saw it. On the ceiling, a police officer was nailed all along his body to the ceiling, a hole torn out of his abdomen; his eyes were torn out, too. I looked down, the carpet was soaked in blood. I began to feel the pelting of blood upon my helmet and leaped back into the living room to avoid the dripping gore. I didn’t freak out; I didn’t scream. I was in a state of tranquil silence as I absorbed the sights of my surroundings. Was I acting like a normal person? Would a normal person be screaming right now? I couldn’t think about that right now. I took a few steps back, not breathing or uttering a word as I backed up. I wiped my bloodied gloved hand on the sofa. Raising my rifle to look along another wall, I felt my mind beginning to crumble. The officer’s partner was crucified on the wall. His chest was flayed open and his organs were missing.

“I think we found what happened to the officers,” I uttered, raising my rifle in a fighting pose.

I pressed my back to Marcus’s. I darted my eyes to search the darkness for movement. I found none.

“We need to call the Major, we need backup right fuckin’ now.”

I heard Marcus shuffling for his radio.

“Major Greene, do you copy? Over.”

“Officer Simpson? What’s going on?”

“We found the officers, they’re dead. Someone gutted and strung them up on the ceiling and the wall.”

“Christ. Have you located the Lewis family?”

“Negative, we’ve only searched the living room and kitchen. We heard a scream, though.”

“Okay, listen carefully, I want you to—”

She got cut off; her voice was replaced with nothing but hard static. We lost the signal. A few seconds of no response, Marcus spoke.

“Major, can you read me, over? Hello?”

There was nothing but static.

“The hell?”

“Let me try,” I said, grabbing my mic. “Major?”

Nothing. I switched frequencies.

“Carlson, Taylor? Can ya read me?”

Again, there was nothing but a distinct pulsing static noise.

“The fuck is this?” I growled. “Should we head back?”

“We still have to find the source of the scream.”

“Dammit.”

I relented and raised my rifle again to illuminate the walls. I wish I didn’t. All along the walls, blood and shit had been smeared like finger paint. It was a good thing these gas masks filtered out smell because I could guarantee this placed smelled like hell. Handprints were all along the wall from the floor to way up high. Whoever did this must have been really tall. There were words written in blood and strange symbols and pictures, too. One of the symbols caught my eye. It was a dot; maybe it was supposed to be a rock? Blood was smeared, radiating from the rock in swirls. Those swirls then ended in ghastly and macabre grinning specters.

Marcus flashed his flashlight too and landed on some words of an unknown script that I never saw before.

“Hguorht eht Etacovda, lla sgniht llahs emoc ot ssap,” Marcus struggling to slowly read the first few words, scratching his head. “The fuck does that mean?”

I flinched, turning to where Marcus was looking at. They were misspelled, smeared and out of order but I could tell what they meant for whatever reason. Those words, as confusing as they were, they made strange sense. I felt as if I saw them before. The feeling was creepy and disconcerting. It seemed as if they calling out to me. I switched the words in my head to make sense.

“Through the Advocate, all things shall come to pass,” I read, flat and robotic as if I was reciting it. “Upon nightmares, shall the truth befall Man. Find the impurity and rebuke, return’st the sun and vanquish Darkness.”

Marcus turned to me, his face troubled when I spoke.

“Morgan? How did you read that? What language is this?”

My eyes were empty as I stared forward.

“It isn’t a different language, Marcus. We’re just reading this wrong.”

“How’s that.”

I turned to him, my face blank of emotion.

“We’re supposed to read it from inside the walls.”

He furrowed his brow and frowned, obviously unsettled. Looking back at the symbol, I focused on the rock in the middle. I blinked then suddenly it opened to reveal an eye. I felt a pulse in my head, sending me to the floor. Marcus ran to me as I recovered from the sudden migraine. Quickly, I looked back at the symbol; the rock was normal. I waited a moment but it wouldn’t change. Was I imagining it? Did whoever that did this expect me to come? Suddenly, the sounds of scratching were heard. We turned swiftly to the noise, our rifles drawn. The scratching continued and it sounded like it was coming from the left bedroom down the pitch black hallway. I gulped.

“Do ya hear that?” I breathed.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, um, guys, first,” I said, flatly.

Marcus huffed, “Chivalry isn’t dead, ya’know? Didn’t you want to be treated like a lady?”

“I don’t mind bein' just one of the guys, right now,” I exhaled.

“What about equality?”

“I don’t mind bein' the weaker sex,” I shivered.

“Coward,” he snickered.

He began to walk down the hall. I followed a few feet behind, taking care to listen in case someone came up behind us. Once we reached the end of the hall, Marcus placed a hand on the doorway. I raised my weapon, ready to fire at whatever it was behind the door. But I spotted something to our right. On the opposite bedroom door, there was a piece of paper taped to the door.

“Dad’s sick,” I read to myself.

I opened the door and stepped inside. The room was clear at first glance. Marcus followed behind, keeping his rifle pointed at the other bedroom. I opened the closet and checked inside. Nothing. I lifted the bed. There was no one under it.

“Clear,” I said.

Marcus nodded and went into the hall.

“Mister Lewis?” Marcus asked, knocking on the other door.

“Who’s there?” a soft and frightened voice asked.

Marcus looked at me then back at the door. There was a girl behind this door. From her voice, she was probably only a little older than Brianna. I stepped into the hall and to the left of Marcus.

“My name is Officer Simpson, NYPD. What’s yours?” He asked, softly.

“Tamika.”

“Tamika, do you know where your father is?” Marcus asked. “I need to talk to him. It’s important”

There was a pause then she spoke.

“Daddy’s sick. He went out.”

“He’s not here?” I asked, my eyes widening.

“No, I don’t think so.”

I clicked my tongue.

He must still be here in the building. They would’ve seen him trying to leave the apartment complex. He might me among the—the sound of something creaking down the hall back in the living room alerted me. I jerked around and aimed my rifle down the hall, half expecting something to be rushing towards us.

“Marcus, you hear that?” I whispered, gulping.

“Here what?” Marcus asked, turning to me.

“I heard a noise down the hall."

“See anything?”

“No, but he might be hiding behind a corner or somethin'. I can’t tell.”

“Keep an eye out. He can only come in one way,” he said, turning back to the door. “Tamika, I’m going to open the door, okay? We’re going to get you out of here, is that okay?”

“Daddy wouldn't like that.”

“Why’s that?”

“The bad man tells him things.”

My blood froze and I could tell Marcus wasn’t having this either.

“Bad man? Who’s that?” I asked.

“The man in the wall,” she said.

I took a deep and control breath, attempting hard to no fall apart. This was nothing but a fucking whole bunch of nope. I took a step back towards Marcus, still aiming my gun down the hall.

“Marcus, we need to go. I got a bad feelin’ 'bout this. Let’s just grab the girl and get out.”

“Agreed,” Marcus said, turning back to the girl. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to your father, he’ll listen to me. You won’t be in trouble.”

There was silence.

“Did he hurt you?”

She didn’t say anything.

“You can trust us, Tamika. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Not me,” the girl said. “—cate.”

I blinked, noticing something so minute I could have nearly missed. I only caught the last part of what she said. The girl’s voice had deepened. It had slowed like that of a dying record. She was starting to freak me out. I furrowed my brow as I turned for a second to look at the door.

“Who are ya?” I asked.

Marcus looked up at me, confused.

‘Her name’s Tamika,” Marcus said.

“No, it isn’t,” I growled. “Who are ya?”

The voice began to cackle, its voice reverberating.

Marcus was unmoved.

“What are ya?!” I demanded pointing my gun at the door. “You's a fuckin' bitch!”

“Morgan? What the heck, don’t swear at her.”

My psyche began to crumble as I looked at him, dumfounded. Didn’t he hear it, too? This wasn’t a girl behind the door. This wasn’t a girl.

“Don’tcha hear it? Her voice isn’t normal. She’s not human.”

“Morgan, that’s offensive. She just young. She can’t talk like us adults.”

What the hell was happening? I know I heard hallucinations and noises and voices but I could still trust that they’d be distinct enough that I’d feel them coming. But now it was blending in too much in reality. I couldn’t even trust my own ears anymore.

"Advocate,” a deep male voice called out from behind me.

I screamed, jerking my head to the voice. Marcus turned, too. A tall black man in a ripped and bloodied shirt and boxers stared us down. His face was intense and filled with urgency. I aimed my rifle at the man.

“Hold it right there!” I shouted. “Don’t move or I will shoot!”

The man’s head turned to me. He began to jerk and shake with inhuman speed. I furrowed my brow, aiming my gun at the man. Marcus did the same.

“Cool. A bust!”

The man jerked his head behind him. I looked, too. Standing at the entrance of the apartment was a teenage boy. He looked like your run of the mill skater punk. He was holding his cellphone in his hand recording us. The light was on and the beam was on the bloody man. He had bullet holes in his legs. The man roared and bolted at the boy. He screamed as the man charged. I was caught off guard at the sudden speed but without a second thought, I fired at the man. The round hit him in the side and sent him falling to the floor.

“Kid, get the fuck outta here! You’s not supposed to be here. It’s dangerous.”

The boy kept recording, frozen where he stood.

“Dammit! Fuckin’ run!”

The man suddenly got up and turned his attention to me. Ah shit, he was pissed. My eyes widened. He ran at lightning speed.

“Fire!” Marcus said.

Refocusing at his center mass, we fired. His chest burst into a cloud of red. But he kept coming, unabated.

“What the fuck!?”

We fire again then again being careful to aim at his vitals in controlled bursts. Again, clouds of blood burst from his chest as the rounds tore through his chest where his heart should be. Blood poured like a waterfall from a gaping walnut-size holes in his chest. But it didn’t do anything. I fired again and again as rapidly as I could. Five shots I fired; Marcus shot eight. He should’ve have fallen dead but he kept coming. It was too late; he was too close for us to fire safely. He grabbed my rifle from my hand and whipped it at Marcus’s face. I heard it smack him hard; he fell to the ground. The man then tossed it behind me towards the living room; it fell to the ground with a clang. He grabbed me by the neck and lifted me from the ground. I grabbed and clawed at his forearm and flailing around trying desperately to make him loosen his grip. It didn’t work; his grip was a vice. I choked as he squeezed before turning around throwing me down the hall. I gasped as I flew and felt my back collide with the hard sofa. I flipped and landed on the coffee table, shattering it. I choked for air as I felt the glass poke at me. I looked up. The boy was fucking recording me!

“Get that camera outta my face or I’ll arrest ya! Can’t ya see this ain’t the time?!”

The boy backed up to the entrance of the apartment. I was beginning to feel the pain in my eye again. But it vanished as I heard Marcus’s screams and the sounds of inhuman roars.

“Marcus!” I shouted, remembering.

I got back up to my feet. I pulled out my pistol and my flashlight from a pocket.

“Morgan! Shoot him!” I heard Marcus struggling in the dark hall. “He’s trying to fucking bite me!”

Crossing the room and into the hallway, I waved my flashlight to catch the man in the beam. I needed to aim carefully or else I’d hit Marcus. I saw the man on top of Marcus. He was growling and… vomiting black puke?

“For God’s sake, shoot him.”

I aimed my pistol and unloaded my gun into his back. He twitched and jerked from every round impacting into his back. Hearing the clicking of my pistol, I tossed the empty mag and reload. The man wasn’t going down! It only managed to stun him. The man grabbed Marcus and attempted to tear off his mask. He raised his head up his head and roared the most blood-curdling scream I had ever heard. It was not human, it sounded more like a pig. I shook my head and aimed at the man’s now visible head. I fired, splattering his head in a cloud of red mist and flesh. The headless man fell to the ground, finally dead. I—I killed him. Marcus pushed him off of him and sat up, catching his breath. I ran to him.

“Marcus! You’s okay?” I asked, panicking. “Did it get on ya?”

“No, thank god,” Marcus said, standing up and pointing to the floor covered in black liquid.

“Christ, I thought you were done for,” I gasped, resting my hands on my knees.

“What the fuck? We unloaded our rifles in him and he didn’t die.”

“Fuck this!” I snapped. “Let’s grab that kid and get the fuck out!”

“Agreed,” Marcus gasped.

I pointed my pistol, still afraid of what I’d find behind the door. Iopened the door. My blood froze solid again. The room wasn’t a bedroom. It was a tiny closet with a few shirts and coats hanging. I turned to Marcus, my eyes wide.

“Where’s the kid?”

* * *

 

The Major made short work of the body retrieval. The officers were put into body bags and taken away in a police van for examination by a hazmat team. That was the fifteenth officer killed this week. We were running out of manpower. The suspect, Mister Lewis was put in another body bag and dragged out by hazmat after Crime Scene Investigators finished their investigation. They were still searching for the little girl. She must have ran past us when we were being mauled by that man. His friends weren’t too happy when they saw him being wheeled out in a biohazard case. One of his buddy’s fists greeted my face. Now here I was nursing a whiskey on the rocks and holding a bag of ice on my sore cheek. This night was way too long; it was already tomorrow, two-fifteen A.M. I wanted to go home right now but no, we had to be examined by a doctor and kept in camp for observation. Luckily we had our masks on and totally clean or else we’d be in a padded room for the next three days. Downing my drink, I exhaled and looked around. The hallway outside our office was quiet; the buzzing noise of the fluorescent bulbs above was the only sound around, save for the stupid bug slamming itself against the light with a buzz.

“Fuck, this blows massive dicks!” I whined, flailing my arms and legs around. “I wanna go home!”

I laid down on the bench, exhausted. Ending my tantrum, I deflated and downed another glass of the bitter liquor. The burning of my throat as it went down distracted me for a moment from the events of the past few hours. But I wasn’t so drunk that I totally forgot.

Advocate, that word, it was so mundane and yet it had such power and significance over me. Everything that happened to me for the past few months involved that title. The Plaza bombing,  my injuries, this fucked up state I was in, what a fucking four months it’s been. I closed my eyes.

_Embrace your destiny, Advocate. For the days draw near to their end._

I opened my eyes.

“Leave me alone,” I uttered, a tear escaping my hate-filled eyes.

What was wrong with me? I really was a fucking mental case. I was seeing things, hearing things. I fucking almost shot a kid in the fucking face. I closed my hands into stiff fists and slammed them into the bench, infuriated and helpless.

I screamed, filled with emotions I didn’t know how to deal with besides screaming. I looked at my hands. They were sore and shaking. Exhaling, I looked down the hall. After a second, a familiar form appeared from a corner.

“Morgan, there you are,” Marcus said, waving.

He was back to wearing his civies like me. I sat up and waved back, motioning for him to sit.

“Took ya a while, enjoy ya examination?” I said, laughing feigning lightheartedness.

“It was lovely,” Marcus said, sarcastically. “I wouldn't want anything else.”

He looked down at the glass in my hand.

“Are you drinking?” He asked.

I shrugged, “yeah, so?”

“Ya’know you can’t drink on the job.”

“Leave me alone,” I chided.

I sighed and turned away.

“It calms me, okay? Would ya want me smokin’ instead?”

“No, but drinking isn’t the way you deal with that shit we saw,” he said. “I set up an appointment with my priest for that. So what’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, ya’know, the cd key for the new expansion pack was invalid so I had to call customer service—do ya need to ask?!”

Marcus frowned and I immediately regretted raising my voice. I grumbled in remorse, covering my face with my hands. To my surprise, I felt Marcus grab my left hand with his much larger one and placed it on my bench, forcing me to look. The contrast in our skin color made me smile, albeit weakly. We looked like two-thirds of a carton of Neapolitan ice cream.

“You saved my life, Morgan.”

I waved him off, removing the ice pack from my eye.

“Eh, don’tcha mention it,” I said, softly. “I couldn’t let him puke all over ya, could I? Tasha’d never forgive me for it if I did.”

He gave a squeeze of his hand before letting me go. He exhaled and looked up to the ceiling.

“Boy, what a day,” he said. “We get jumped by a psycho and you’re drinking whiskey on the rocks.”

“Shaddap,” I pouted, flushing and swaying from the alcohol. “I can do whatever I want.”

“And if Patterson finds out?”

“Ha! Where ya think I got this whiskey?” I laughed, raising the bottle from beneath the bench.

Marcus broke out, laughing. I handed him the glass. He took a swig and handed it back to me. I poured another shot. We must have laughed for the longest time. I don’t think either of us ever laughed so hard. The joke wasn’t particularly funny but it was the catalyst of which broke the hesitation and anxiousness in our hearts. We finally got to breathe. Anyone that walked by must have thought we were crazy. But there was no one. Another escape attempt had pulled all available officers to the south end of the camp. But did we care, hell no! We almost died today I snorted laughing hysterically.

Looks like the quarantine failed,” Marcus noted, laughing like a drunk. “Manhattan’s first psychosis case. There’ll be more and more. It’ll never end. Hahahahaha!”

“We’re so fucked!” I laughed, slapping my knee. “I—I mean look at us, runnin’ ‘round and shootin’ fuckers tryin’ to infect us.”

“Then it’ll be me then you!”

“Then we’ll be dead!” I laughed back, the hardest of the two of us.

Marcus laughed some more until his laughter devolved to occasional titters from the absurdity of our collective horrific situation then silence. I continued to laugh and laugh until my laughter eventually morphed into sobs of grief. I was crying in front of Marcus. Once it began, I couldn’t stop. Oh, god, who were we kidding? We were fucked beyond measure. It was like a floodgate opened up. Everything began to sink in. It’d spread. I was already sick for crying out loud. I had all the symptoms, paranoia, hallucinations, aggression. I killed again. Those two teenagers during the hospital break in, that burglar I mauled like a dog in the alley outside of Marcus’s house and now that man in the apartment. Some people say it gets easier after the first one. They’re wrong. Tears fell from my eyes as I tried to continue laughing only for sobs to escape my lips. I looked like a crazy person laughing and crying at the same time. I leaned forward, hyperventilating and hiccupping. I heard my tears pelt the ground as a wave of horrible thoughts ran through my exhausted mind. Then I felt Marcus place a hand over my back, rubbing it to comfort me. I leaned into his shoulder as he cooed.

“There, there. It’s going to be okay, Morgan,” he whispered. “Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.”

“I—hiccup—I killed again. I killed a person,” I sobbed and growled, angrily punching my head. “I’m sick, too. I’m a sick fuckin’ monster.”

“No, you’re not. It’s just the stress from work.”

“I hear voices, Marcus, loud ones. They’re always telling me to do things. I see them, too. I see monsters. I am a monster, Marcus, don’tcha understand that? I killed those people, I killed those teens at Mount Sinai. I killed that—”

My chin rested against his shoulder, my voice lost in fits of wails. He squeezed me tight against his hard chest, squeezing tighter with every sentence.

“You protected Ian. And you protected me. And even that skater punk. You need to remember that, Morgan. Don’t think about anything else. Just remember you’re a hero.”

We sat there in each other's arms for a long time. Eventually, I stopped crying. Once my sobs ended, Marcus let go. He wiped my face and had me blow my nose into a tissue like a child.

“Better?” He asked with a smile.

I nodded, turning to stare at my feet.

“Better,” I said.

After a moment, I looked back up to Marcus.

“Me, a hero? Ya must be drunk if ya think that.”

“The Morgan I know is a hero. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. You’re a hero, a genuine, undeniable hero.”

“Ya must not know me as well as ya thought,” I scoffed, dismissively. "The real Morgan barely ever wants to go to work. She’s always tryin' to not exert herself more than necessary. What kind of hero is that?”

Marcus’s gaze softened as he leaned closer to ruffle my hair.

“I must not then. The Morgan I know helps little boys find their mommies.”

Damn that Ian. He told him. I sighed.

“The Morgan I know runs into hotels to save hostages without thinking of herself.”

I turned from him.

“The Morgan I know always has time for her friends.”

I crossed my legs.

“She’s always herself no matter what anyone says. She might not know it but she has people out there that love her, even if she’s a little pipsqueak,” he smiled. “Too bad she can’t see it.”

I turned abruptly to him with concerned eyes.

“Of course I know—”

“I wonder if she knows how many girls out there want to be police officers because of her agreeing to come with me to school visits? I know two and they keep me up all night sometimes wanting to see their Auntie cornchips.”

He leaned back, giving me a smug and victorious look. He had me in the palm of his hand, the big oaf.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

I turned to face Marcus. He looked down at me. I didn’t recognize the feeling in my face. The way the muscles in my face tensed and relaxed was alien to me. I felt almost feminine, even demure as I smiled a wide and bright grin back at him, my eyes squinting slightly as my cheeks rose and warmed. Marcus’s eyes widened ever so slightly, then he huffed in surprise.

“So Morgan can show that kind of face, too.”

I punched him in the arm and snorted loudly, unable to contain my laughter. I cackled as I slapped my knee and drooled over myself like a baby. I was getting drunk.

“And just like that, the magic is gone,” he laughed.

“Shaddup, ye big oaf,” I said, laughing. “You’s owe me big time.”

He smiled at me and patted me on the head, affectionately.

“It’s good to see my girl bouncing back.”

I smiled, warmed by his words. Then I quieted down as I looked to the ceiling.

“You’s soundin' like Murphy now. Did’cha fall for me, too?” I laughed.

“Not in the slightest, Gorilla.”

I leaned back and breathed, relaxed and with a good buzz going on.

“She’s nearby, Marcus. She just needs another drink.”

His smile renewed.

“Sounds good to me, Morgan.”

“Pass the bottle, asshole,” I said. “I need a drink.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, pouring me another glass.


	19. Trampoline Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Marcus and Morgan find themselves swamped with work following the announcement of a case of the unknown illness in Manhattan, Ian finds himself uncertain of how to handle the increasingly deteriorating situation and begins to understand and accept the peculiar existence of a certain girl who has been occupying his thoughts of late.

**** “Doctor Benson, mind bringing me that clipboard and that stack of papers? I can’t reach it from here.”

I turned from my work to the FEMA officer busy on a small girl’s broken ankle. I took the clipboard with a stack of papers beside me on the table and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said, putting it on the table.

I returned back to my task at hand, suturing a deep gash on a child’s arm. He was crying quietly on the stretcher. I had him biting down on a foam mouth guard while his mother held his other hand. I growled to myself. This was absolutely ridiculous. We were working with barely a school nurse's office worth of supplies between the ten medical tents along this stretch of Bridle Path. How could I treat my patients when we didn’t even have the most basic supplies? I was surprised that an infection hadn’t yet swept through the clean zone, not that I was ungrateful for such a reprieve. But for God’s sake, there were flies buzzing around on the bloody pads and stretchers; I had to constantly swat the air so they would not land on his wounds. We didn’t even have any anesthetics, not even basic medical cold spray for the boy’s arm. I couldn't believe it when we were informed that they would be reallocating three of the four monthly supply shipments initially promised to us to the Long Island centers. I understood the reasoning; they needed all the supplies they could get to deal with the thousands upon thousands of cases. But we needed them, too. With widespread looting and shootings on the hour, we needed blood, plasma, sterilizing washes, everything that was once a guarantee for the people forced into Central Park. Shortages were common ever since Manhattan went under lockdown and we had to rely on air drops. Food was being rationed out. Water was being cut; electricity was being cut. And for what reason? Was it really a burden on the State to keep running water flowing into Manhattan? Cholera was tearing up the clean zones on Long Island. Soon that would be us. We were barely managing to keep the lights from fading around the clean zone and keeping the invaluable life-support running in the hospitals. People were too afraid to donate blood for Christ’s sake. We were desperately low, running on empty tanks and relying on air shipments. Last time I checked, we were living in Manhattan, not some war torn city.

Suddenly, a loud blast resounded in the air, snapping like a firecracker. I stopped and looked up, grimacing. The sound was followed by more crackles in the air to the Northeast, just beyond the Reservoir. They sounded like fireworks but I was not naive to think that they were. It might be at Mount Sinai for all I know. Perhaps we were closer to a warzone than I thought. I watched as the silhouettes of soldiers and officers ran past. When the energy of activity faded into the silence of the wooded area around us, I finished the stitches on the boy’s arm. Cleaning the wound, I wrapped it in gauze.

“There, all done,” I said, turning to face the boy. “You did well for your mom.”

His mother sat up from across the table. She ran her hand through her son’s hair, cooing him as she did.

“ _ Mi bebé _ ,” she said, kissing her son on the cheek. “There, there, it’s all done.”

“Your son was so mature. You should be proud,” I said.

The boy smiled, weakly. I gave him a lollipop from the jar on the table. It was safe to say he was very grateful. I took a plastic medicine bottle from the table and handed it to her.

“Make sure he takes one of these every four hours with water. It’ll help with the pain.”

“Thank you, doctor,” she bowed.

I smiled weakly, helping her boy sit up on the table.

“Make sure to have him come in once a day so we can check on him.”

She nodded. After a moment, she helped him down and they exited the tent.

“That’s some fine work, doctor,” the FEMA officer remarked, writing something on his clipboard.

“Thank you,” I replied. “It would’ve been easier if we had some more supplies or at least some more hands around.”

“We’re getting a new volunteer group in the next few days from the University of Chicago.”

“Really?” I said, smiling. “That’s my Alma Mater.”

“You went there?”

“Yeah, for med school?”

“Well, I’ll be sure to let them know. They could do well with a local to get them acquainted around here. Until then, we’ll just have to deal with what we got.”

We both groaned at the prospect. I nodded, waiting for the next patient; I had gone through twelve since this morning, mostly children. I grimaced, adjusting my medical mask. My body ached with exhaustion from leaning over for so long. Crossing my arms, I cracked my back against the table.

“This whole thing is crazy,” I said. “It just doesn’t seem real.”

“What doesn’t?” the man asked.

“All of this, the camp, the situation over on Long Island, all those riots in Detroit and Dallas and Denver and everywhere else,” I listed. “It feels like the whole world’s falling apart.”

“You sound as if this was the first time this has ever happened.”

I turned to face the man.

“Not like this. Not in this scale.”

You must have never left the states, then,” he said, dismissively.

“I have,” I said back.

“Ooh, where to? Canada? Great Britain? Anywhere west of Zagreb?”

I didn’t answer. I was starting to get what he was insinuating. Clicking my tongue, I turned back to the table. A bad taste was in my mouth from his words. Did I really give off the impression of some ignorant yuppie?

“Listen here, doctor,” the man said, pointedly. “If you have been where I have, this is commonplace as roaches in a motel. I worked for the World Health Organization for a while. It was bound to happen here sooner or later. The only difference is that this is happening to people who have never gone to bed hungry or stayed up all night afraid that some warlord’s gonna show up and rape their sister.”

My eyes widened. I snapped and jerked my head back to face him.

“Who the fuck are you to say that to me?!” I shouted, jabbing a finger in his direction.

The man was taken aback by my sudden uproar. But as soon as it was, he relaxed his pose. I was seething with rage from his words. But then I remembered where I was and backed down, hoping anyone outside didn’t hear me. Why did I yell at him? I frowned, cringing at the now awkward air between us.

“S—Sorry,” I said. “I—I’m sorry for yelling.”

“It’s fine. I should be the one apologizing,” he shrugged, taking off his respirator with a hiss. “I have a habit of running my mouth. But I stand by what I said, doctor. It was bound to eventually happen here and anyone that was so naive to think ‘oh, our country’s so great, it could never happen to us’ is a complete fool.”

“Why do you say that?” I inquired.

“They say it was something that could've been foreseen.”

“But who could have foreseen this affliction?” I asked.

“When was the last great disaster, doctor?” he asked. “It’s been awhile since the last. Remember the Great Thirst ten years back?”

I nodded, “yeah, I was starting college when it happened. A lot of people died and—”

“Half the country burned. You think this is so bad? Imagine the chaos of tens of millions of displaced people flooding across the Mississippi,” the officer said. “I was stationed at the Carbondale FEMA camp when the fires reached Kansas. I saw folks come from as far west as Boise seeking some semblance of safety from the fires.”

“What was it like?” I asked, genuinely interested.

“A lot worse than here that’s for damn sure. Ever see those refugee camps the UN set up after those brushfire wars?”

I nodded.

“And what did anyone do? Nothing,” he laughed, bitterly. “They’re still doing nothing. I remember working a containment center in Incheon a few years back during the last Flu scare. Shit was way worse there than here. At least we have some semblance of normalcy here with those playgrounds they set up. Heh, It’s like a fucking big barbeque down south of us, besides all the National Guard.”

“But they knew what was happening in Korea. Over here, we have no idea.”

“Does it matter?” he asked back, shrugging his arms. “Could be a bacteria, could be a fungus. It even could be the first contagious mental illness for all I care. It doesn’t matter.”

“How could you say that?” I asked, offended. “People are dying out there because we don’t know what the hell this sickness is. We’ve lost nearly a quarter of a million people since this damn thing started.”

He sighed, “did this sickness actually kill them?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who has actually died from this sickness, Doctor Benson? A few thousand? Ten thousand nationwide? Maybe twenty-thousand if you add all those suicides. How many of these lunatics running around died getting shot by police after going crazy?”

I did not answer.

“How many police-related shootings have we had in the last week alone, Doctor Benson? A thousand, two thousand?” He asked me, leaning against the table behind him. “For God’s sake, we’ve killed more of our own people fighting this ‘sickness’ and those fucking Redeemers and their ilk than from whatever this is. Engagements with insurgents here and elsewhere are more like battles than random shootouts. Just look at Houston right now.”

He wiped his brow with a cloth and sighed.

“It doesn’t matter what kind of pathogen it is so long as no one is serious about getting rid of it. Look at the gridlock in Washington. They’re more afraid of these militias that have no chance in hell of overthrowing them than they are of their own people dying in the streets and giving us the funding to stop it. That’s why we’re in this situation in the first place.”

He spat on the ground.

“And what’s the point? If this keeps up, there might not be another election. Nearly every state east of the Mississippi is in a State of Emergency, more like soft Martial Law. The Redeemers are using this fracturing to their advantage. They’ve already had the Shields of the Gospels and the Texas Liberation Front pledge their allegiance to them. The Neo-Confederacy and the United American Opposition Front are bound to pledge theirs in the coming weeks. We’ve already lost Baton Rouge to those damn Neo-Confederates and Houston with the TLF. To think the National Guard would get their asses handed to them by a bunch of inbred yokels.”

He clicked his tongue.

“What about the army? Surely, they can handle a bunch of  gun toting militias.”

“If the Army marched on Houston, you know the uproar that’d do? Hell, half the state’s would rebel if they saw the Army march in on a US city. We’re already at a knife’s edge with the rebels. One wrong move and boom, we’re in civil war,” he explained. “They’re reacting to a reaction of a problem. They’ve always done that. The economy tanked, gas is like ten dollars a gallon, every major city’s rife with protests and riots. Why deal with the actual problem when we can just treat the symptoms. No, because that would be the smart thing to do. Isn’t that right, doctor?”

I narrowed my eyes, aware of what he was insinuating.

“While we’re having insurgencies popping up like weeds, look at these camps. We’re just corralling a bunch of people in one place trying to stop a disease from spreading. Makes as much sense as tossing water on a fire to make ice. It makes no damn sense and the people know it. Just look at all the holes in the fences. People are just running off. It not even working as is. Quarantining like this only works temporarily and only if you have the cure. Otherwise, you’ll only trap healthy people with the disease inside. So much for Protective sequestration,” he bemoaned. “Ever heard of Poveglia?”

I shook my head.

“The Italians used to just dump people on that damn island to die during the Black Death. I heard from a friend that the Italians are using it again. It doesn’t surprise me, though. They’ve already converted Sicily into what’s essentially a bigger version of what we’re doing with Long Island.”

“I’m sure the Sicilians weren’t too happy,” I said, offhandedly.

“They aren’t. Italy’s in civil war right now.”

“Smart move Italy.”

“Britain's done it with Ireland. They just evacuated all of Northern Ireland last week and dumped their infected for the Irish to deal with.”

“Jesus Christ, what are they thinking?” I said, completely flabbergasted. “As if the Irish didn’t hate them already.”

“What do you think we’re doing? Long Island, Manhattan, Staten, it’s the same here. They sealed off the Lincoln Tunnel so we have no way out, Doctor,” he pointed out. “Don’t you get it? They’re fooling us with the bare minimum of supplies to keep us from questioning anything. The people are getting wise on it. Trust me, Doctor, we’re just one mistake away from a full blown revolt here.”

I frowned. His words were making me very uneasy. He furrowed his brow and turned from me, his eyes filled with anger and disgust.

“Denmark’s building a wall, Russia’s building a fucking wall along the Yenisei, Spain, Scotland, Mexico, fucking Florida, they’re all building fucking walls as if it’ll do anything. A wall’s not going to do shit. This damn sickness pops up in places it shouldn’t, like that man at the Taft Houses yesterday.”

He spat on the ground and groaned.

“And I’m sure you’ve heard of the attempted escapes from the LaGuardia and JFK Clean Zone.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of them. Some Redeemers were trying to break out.”

He grinned, gravely.

“Is that what they told you?”

I froze. Gulping, I looked around to see if anyone was looking.

“Is that not the truth?”

“Have you noticed the pillars of smoke coming from Governor's Island? Or Rikers? What do you think they’re burning over there?”

His words frightened me. What else could—I froze as suddenly, a woman wearing the same sterile jumpsuit as me and the officer walked into the field tent. We both froze.

“Doctor Benson, your shift’s over; you can go now. I’ll take it from here.”

I nodded, stiffly and turned away from the man. As I turned, he spoke again.

“Don’t go ‘running’ around too much, doctor, you might get sick,” he flashed me a knowing smile. “And stay clear of anything south of the Bethesda Fountain. They’ve been having a lot of trouble with ‘rowdy’ folks.”

I nodded back, more so out of politeness than understanding. Troubled by his words, I decided not to voice any further opposition. I merely closed my eyes, turned and walked out of the medical tent and into the light of the day. As soon as the air hit me and I was out of the tent, I gasped. I felt so much lighter; the tent had an oppressive air to it that I could no longer stand. Still, his words remained on my mind. I opened my eyes.

After weeks of downcast days, the sun had finally shown its face. It was a sunny day with clouds here and there. I smiled. The light was comforting as it peered through the tall trees in shafts as if it was any normal September day. The trees were mostly green with a few turning yellow and orange. Autumn would begin officially in a week but the change of seasons was contradicted with the unwelcome routine of the Central Park Clean Zone. There was still no end in sight. After the first case here in Manhattan, more and more people were showing up with the signs of this unexplainable aggression. The National Guard have been sending them over to Long Island to prevent its spread. It’s safe to say their families were not in agreement. Some of their words were very troubling as they berated us. Was this the mistake the officer was talking about? I shook my head at the thought and tried to entertain my weary eyes with the quiet sights around. I took a deep breath.

I was lucky enough to have had the asphalt of Bridle Path greeting my eyes. It was one of two paths that circled the Reservoir of Central Park. Ambulances and military trucks were parked along the asphalt. Workers were walking down Bridle Path and people with injuries were being carried to the medical tents that lined it. Beyond my view of the thicket of trees to my left in the north was the wide expanse of Central Park’s Reservoir. My smile faded. I looked at my feet and bloodied gloved hands. I took a deep breath as I tore my gloves off and disposed of them along with my mask in a medical waste bin.

I turned to my left and pass through the shrubs and trees separating Bridle and the Reservoir. There I found myself on the other path, the Shurman running track. It was much narrower than Bridle, just a concrete footpath while Bridle was car-accessible. Trees shrouded the path from the light of the sun. I stopped right at the edge of the low metal fence as a pair of police officers walked past me. I looked north towards the Reservoir. The water was no longer a kind teal but a sickly seafoam green and earthy brown in some parts. The fountain in the middle of the water was no longer operating and only the mats of suffocating algae remained upon the still surface. The massive expanse of water was strangely tranquil despite the constant droning of helicopter blades and horns. I could see from where I was at, on the other side of the reservoir, patrols and other tents. Seeing it now was just another reminder of what was lost since this whole emergency began. Before a lot of people would run along this pristine path. Now it was a ghost town with only the wayward loner. Looking over my shoulder, the thicket of trees and shrubs along the small concrete running path obscured the medical tent and Bridle Path. Past where I could see, below the small embankment of stone that raised the earth north of the fence where I stood, was Eighty-fifth. The wind swayed the shrubs and I caught a glimpse of shingles. Past the thicket of trees and the high chain link fence along Eighty-fifth, stood the police station. Marcus and Morgan were on day patrol today so they were probably still out. There was no point in heading there. Still, it kept my eyes fixed on it. It was strange seeing the small and quaint building patrolled by armed soldiers. My curious look turned to a somber grimace as the situation around returned to grab my attention. Suddenly, a voice called out from down the path.

“Oh, if it isn’t Doctor Benson.”

I turned, recognizing the voice. A woman in black trousers and matching suit vest greeted me with a wave, holding a mess plate with steaming mush that vaguely resembled food on it. For a moment, I mistook her for Morgan but then I noticed her much longer, blonde hair and tanner skin. She walked towards me. She lacked the funny bounce in her step that Morgan had. I instantly remembered the woman.

“You’re that woman I talked to the night the hospital was broken into.”

“Yes, Murphy’s the name, Private Eye extraordinaire,” she said, pointing her thumb at herself. “Glad you remembered me, Doctor.”

“What are you doing here?” I questioned. “This area’s for patients and authorized personnel only.”

“I have my ways,” she dismissed with a shrug. “Besides, what’s it look like? I’m hungry so I came in and here I am.”

I turned to face the lake. Glancing for a moment, I confirmed what I had already believed to be the case. She really was an old friend of Morgan’s. They both had the same matter-of-fact mannerisms. I turned to the food on her tray. It was quite unpleasant, like baby food. She spooned a glob of the mush into her mouth; some of the mush fell from her spoon and landed on her tie and vest with a splat.

“Hey, be careful. It’ll stain,” I said, pulling out a handkerchief from my pocket. “Here, let me get that for you.”

I took her tie and began wiping it and the drops on her chest. But as soon as I felt my handkerchief touch the fabric and the softness of her chest, I blushed furiously and recoiled back, shutting my eyes.

“Sorry,” I said, profusely. “I didn’t mean it.”

I opened my eyes and found Murphy unmoved, brushing her vest.

“Do you always do that?” She asked, tossing the empty tray behind her into the shrubs. “Touching a woman’s chest so absentmindedly.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. When you spilled your food, I was reminded of—”

“Morgan?”

I swallowed my words. I scratched the back of my head, unable to keep eye contact with her sharp gaze.

“Do you think she’s that helpless that she couldn’t wipe food off her own clothes?” She questioned, looking at me with analytical eyes.

“No, of course, Morgan’s a capable woman. It’s just,” I scratched the back of my head, nervously.

“She just makes me feel like looking after her.”

She nodded.

“She does have that dimwitted yokel sort of vibe to her. I remember when you couldn’t even trust her to cross the road.”

She made a faraway grin as if remembering.

“You can’t help but want to put her in a cage like a bird and never let her out.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, smirking.

“If you knew what she’s been through, you’d want to,” she said, frowning.

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” she said, barely more than a whisper. “I just hope she’s a little more careful. It’s a lot dangerous now than when she first became a cop. Even Insurgo wasn’t this bad.”

I noticed her troubled face so I didn’t press the issue.

“Have you talked to Morgan since we last talked?” I asked.

“Yes, in fact, we spoke last night when she was on duty at the Taft Houses.”

“She was there?”

“Yeah, she and her partner, Marcus, were the ones that discovered the afflicted man.”

“Did anything happen to them?”

“Seeing as they’re on patrol, I’d say they’re fine.”

“So what did you guys talk about, if it's not personal, that is?”

“Morgan and I just chatted for a bit, catching up and that jazz. She and I hadn’t talked to each other for a long time.”

“Why’s that?”

“I was overseas for a while, getting away from everything, I suppose.”

She then narrowed her eyes in a scrutinizing manner.

“But you’re not interested in my overseas excursions, are you?”

I nodded, dropping my facade. I looked back at her with a serious demeanor.

“No, when we last talked, what you said stuck with me.”

“Aye, that it should. What is it that concerns you?” she asked.

“You seem to know more about what’s been going on than you let on.”

“I’d like to think that I do.”

I furrowed my brow.

“Please tell me. Anything might help. Is this a planned event of some kind? Some kind of new terrorism?”

She sighed, turning away and looking out to the lake.

“I wish it was that,” she said, sadly. “But it’s a lot worse than that, I think.”

“What do you think?”

She scoffed, “it doesn’t matter. Like anyone is actually going to believe it. You’ll probably laugh.”

“Please,” I begged. “Tell me.”

She exhaled, rubbing the back of her head.

“Okay, I’ll tell you.”

She took a deep breath and relaxed.

“Remember what I said? There are things in this world that should not exist. Things that are ‘artificial’ in nature. Well, we’re dealing with one of them, I believe.”

“This sickness?”

“Yeah, but it isn’t a sickness that you can treat, Ian. Can you medicate for something that isn’t even real?”

“What do you mean this isn’t real?” I questioned. “We're seeing it right now.”

“I mean real in the sense that it’s an actual physical illness that you can vaccine against or treat.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t understand what she was getting at.

“Ever had a nightmare in which you were so certain it was real?”

“Not really. I do remember getting sleep paralysis once.”

She chuckled a little.

“It sucks, doesn’t it? Waking up but not being able to move for whatever reason. When that happened, did you happen to see anything?”

“Well, I thought I did. I was in the dark and I thought I saw stuff moving in the corner of my eyes.”

“Like shadow people?”

“I guess. Turns out it was the tree outside making shadows through the window.”

She gave me a knowing look. It was not a pleasant one but a grave and nervous frown.

“It was spooky, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was. I thought a monster was going to jump out and get me,” I laughed, disparagingly. “I freaked out so hard I slept with a night light on for a week.”

“What did it look like?”

“I don't know. Maybe like something I saw on tv. It was years ago.”

“And did it jump out at you?”

“No, of course not. Monsters aren’t real.”

She didn’t speak for a while, merely looking out over the lake.

“So what does this have to do with what’s happening?”

“The Church of God’s Deliverance, what did they find after the police raid?” She asked.

“Well, from what I saw on the news and what Marcus told me. They found a lot of barrels of poison gas and a lot of weapons.”

“And why?”

“I don’t remember exactly what he said but I’m guessing it was like any other doomsday cult, trying to trigger the end of the world.”

“It was ‘to evacuate our souls before the coming calamity struck the world.’ Those were his own words. Drink in those words, Ian,” she ordered. “What did he know that we didn’t?”

“He was crazy. Like those people that think the world’s going to end every year or that FEMA’s making concentration camps in the desert.”

“I don’t think he’s crazy. At least, crazy like that. I believe he’s hiding something but I can’t figure it out,” she confessed with a grave grin.

She turned and paced around for a bit before talking again.

“What are dreams to you, Ian?”

“Dreams?”

“Yeah, what do you feel about them? Do you think they’re a window into the mind of a person? Are they related to who we are as people? Or are they just a random mashup of things on our mind?”

“I guess you could say that. Personally, I think they’re just whatever was on your mind when you fell asleep. What’s this have to do with what’s happened and Adamson’s cult?”

“Father Adamson was very interested in aspects of the self and consciousness. He wrote extensively on the nature of Man and the role that dreams and nightmares have on a person. In the surviving papers that he could not burn before his capture, he wrote that he was nearing the true nature of dreams. He called it ‘Man’s Truth’ in his manifesto.”

She grimaced and turned to me.

“I believe that truth or whatever it was that Father Adamson was looking for has something to do with this nightmare we’re in,” she said, sighing. “Pardon the pun.”

“That makes no sense. How does a whackjob’s dabbling in dreams have anything to do with people going crazy?” I asked, confused. “I mean really, how do dreams cause people to go mad and vomit black bile or take a dozen bullets like nothing? Did he make fear gas or something? What is he, the Joker? They’re dreams for god’s sake.”

“I know it's a stretch, but you’ve heard what those people that committed suicide said. They quoted the very same bible verse used in Father Adamson’s cult, every last one of them, all the thousands upon thousands of suicides and deaths. How can that be a coincidence?”

I didn’t say anything. Exhaling in resignation, I gave a nervous look before turning towards the lake.

“It wasn’t random, it was coordinated. Morgan can vouch for that. I believe whatever Father Adamson was searching for has something to do with what’s been happening.”

“So you’re saying if we find him, we might just stop this.”

“I don’t know,” she said, dropping her hands in defeat. “I’ve only gotten this far.”

“And what about who sent him? I remember you saying that.”

“Yeah, I said that. But I doubt that’ll lead anywhere.”

“Then why did you say you were interested in who sent him if it won’t lead to anything?”

“Every priest is held accountable to a Bishop, right? There’s a hierarchy.”

I opened my mouth but I didn’t speak. She was right.

“That’s why I’ve been searching high and low over this damn city for him. Not a trace. It’s as if he’s just disappeared.”

“Could it be possible that he might have left the city?”

“If that’s the case, then we have nothing and we’re screwed. But if he’s still here, then we just might have luck. If not, I’ll just have to look for who sent him.”

“But that’s if what you’re hypothesizing is true.”

She sighed.

“Yeah, for all I know this is just some crazy flu and I’m chasing a ghost,” she said, looking down to her feet. “Anyway, let’s not dwell on that until something comes of it. We’re just screwing with our minds with all these guesses and theories. It’s hurting my head. How about we talk about something else.”

“Well, what do you have in mind?”

The change in subject was marked by a sudden warm breeze. The wind blew around us and like that, the serious air around had disappeared. Instead, the air was filled with a calmer demeanor. The warmth of the sun kissed the back of my neck. I turned to her. She chuckled and gave me a sly grin.

“What do you like about her?” She asked me, giving me a knowing side-glance. “Morgan, that is.”

I swallowed my words, caught off guard. She was teasing me, wasn’t she? But then I laughed, exasperated. I shook my head. I just couldn’t win with people like her.

“Why are you laughing? I’m asking a serious question here,” she laughed along. “What do you like about her?”

“Well, as a friend I’d say—”

“Don’t bullshit with me, Ian,” she groaned. “I know you got the hots for my girl. Hell, I don’t blame you. She  _ is _ a fine piece of ass.”

I choked on my saliva. I was surprised by her coarse words. They close lined me. Unable to speak, I bent over and attempted to halt my fit of coughs. She laughed at me.

“A little blunter, this time,” I shot back. “There’s a lot but the first that comes to mind is—”

“See, you’re not denying it,” Murphy laughed. “Let me guess, her ass, right? It is rather shapely. Too bad she hides it wearing all those men’s clothes.”

She was motioning her hands in the shape of Morgan’s… posterior. My face heated up but I kept my composure.

“Honestly, it’s a waste to cover herself in so many layers. Even when we would go to the beach, she’d wear a wetsuit looking for clams and shit. But I guess leaving it to the imagination has its own charm. So what do you say?”

“I was going to say her voice,” I simpered.

“So you don’t think her ass is nice.”

“No, of course I do!” I stopped myself. “Wait, what I mean—”

Murphy lifted a tape recorder from her pocket.

“Is that so?” She grinned.

My blood froze.

“I’m playing,” she laughed, showing me that the recorder had no batteries. “But seriously, her voice? You sure you’re a man? You’re sounding like my sister-in-law. What about it?”

I shrugged, turning to the lake.

“I don’t know. I guess you can say it’s rather musical,” I said.

She cocked her head and gave me a questioning look.

“In a banjo and tin drums on the muddy river sort of way,” I finished.

She nodded her head in understanding.

“It’s rough around the edges and rather folksy but so is she. She’s honest about herself and doesn’t take crap from anybody.”

She gave me a smile that I couldn’t decipher. It seemed to be an approving grin. But perhaps, it was only wishful thinking. I cleared my throat.

“And well, she is a very beautiful woman.”

“Aye, that she is. Too bad her mind’s always on food to realize it. I swear, where do all those calories go to? Her chest?”

“Well, what about you? What do you like about Morgan?” I asked, deflecting the questions from me. “You’re her friend and all, too.”

“Well, I was in the same boat as you, once.”

“Hmm?”

“I had the hots for her, too,” she said, lighting a cigarette.

“You liked her?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” she said, looking at me as if I had asked something obvious. “Heh, the things I thought about doing to her would have made even the devil blush.”

My face was fuming with heat. I closed my eyes and looked to the sky. In the darkness of my vision, I imagined her straddling Morgan, taking her hand and—I shook my head of such thoughts. I turned back to Murphy. She facetiously waved her hand like a fan.

“Goodness, it’s hot out here.”

I shook my head in amusement.

“So you’re a lesbian.”

“Ha! I thought I was, more like bi,” she corrected, laughing. “I never found myself attracted to men and I found women pretty nice to look at. Well, that was until I met my husband. He managed to convince me to give him a chance. Turns out I liked them just a wee bit more than the ladies.”

“I wonder how he did that.” I grinned, teasingly.

She gave a slight smirk and punched me in the arm. I recoiled in jest at her punch. She then took out her wallet and handed me a small photo. The photo was of a rather chubby man with a robust beard and Murphy standing on a beach. She was wearing the stereotypical explorer outfit and he was rocking a Hawaiian shirt and boardshorts. He must have been half-Indian judging by his name and mixed features.

“Believe it or not, he wasn’t the best looking man.”

“I’d say he has that Bollywood-sort of charm to him, doesn’t he?” I said, half-jokingly. “But seriously, he looks like a nice guy.”

“He and I met during a case in New Delhi. I fell for his shitty foreign sense of humor,” she laughed, closing her eyes in remembrance. “He was the most awkward little fuck I ever saw but goddamn do those Indians have their own charm.”

“Marlowe is his last name, right?”

“Yeah, his father was an Aussie.”

I handed her the photo back. She looked fondly at the photo then tucked it away.

“Where is he now?”

“He’s on the USS George Washington. He’s on a maintenance job so he’s been out at sea for a while,” she explained, lowering her voice. “I hope he stays there. It’s a lot safer for him. He ain’t much of a fighter but he’s got a heart to boot.”

I smiled.

“But enough of the hubby. Back to you question. I like Morgan’s face. She’s got that Russian-sort of look to her with those cheekbones and that paleness of her skin, hell, maybe even a little Asian in there, too with that gorgeous complexion. But that booty, ooh wee, that’s all American.”

I laughed at her playful tone. God, if people heard the things we were saying. It took all the seriousness from her blunt words and any awkward images in my mind with it.

“You don’t mince words, do you?” I asked, wiping a tear from my eye. “How does Morgan deal with you?”

“She’s gotten used to it. Believe me when I say it. You’ll be hard pressed to find a girl like that again, Ian,” she said. “You better act quickly or else someone else will snatch her right up. Believe me, an army’s worth tried, not that she knew about it.”

Her smile seemed to freeze up for a second before relaxing again.

“I was wondering about that. How did you know I liked Morgan?”

“You might as well have worn a shirt saying ‘I wanna bone her raw!’. I know that look when I see it. Even now when we’re talking, I can tell your mind’s on Morgan.”

I made a curt grin, scratching my stubble.

“Well, I can’t say you’re wrong.”

“So when did you realize?” She asked.

“Well, ever since Marcus showed me a picture of her and him a while back, I was attracted to her. But the moment I guess I began to realize I had feelings for her was when she and I went to the Aquarium.”

“Jeez, you sound like a schoolboy on his first date,” she laughed.

“I got to see her, a different side of her than her normal crass cop side,” I confessed, softening my gaze. “Don’t get me wrong, I love that tomboyish side of her. Makes it easy to talk to her. But when she’s even just a bit womanly, I find it hard control myself. She’s just too precious.”

“I’m glad, it’s you that likes her.”

I looked down at her.

“Why’s that?” I asked, teasingly. “We haven’t really known each other that long. I could be a serial killer for all you know.”

“In my line of work, you have to see beyond the surface.”

“Ah, I understand the feeling. My friends do say I’m a good listener.”

“Hmm. Besides, Morgan speaks highly of you,” she admitted.

“Really? What she say?”

“Well, she says you treated her to dinner once,” she said. “Apparently, you were quite generous.”

“Well, I wanted to treat the partner of a dear friend of mine,” I explained. “She is watching his back everyday. So what else?”

“That’s it,” she said, teasingly. “Anyone that treats her with food’s on her good list.”

I laughed, disparagingly.

“But seriously, she says she’s comfortable around you. That’s something to be honored by, Ian.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“No, you don’t. Morgan’s been through alot in the past. Now it’s not my place to tell but to make her feel comfortable around you is no small feat,” Murphy said. “Maybe she’ll tell you way, someday.”

I nodded.

“I see, maybe one day.”

“I can tell you care about her,” she said, her face serious. “A friend’s gotta look out for her girl. And well, I can tell I can trust you.”

“Thanks. That actually means a lot.”

“Just be gentle with her, okay?” she requested, motherly in tone but no less serious. “She surprisingly fragile.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Really,” she said. “Despite how Morgan looks, she’s a kid at heart. Took me forever to convince her that Santa Claus didn’t exist. When she realized the truth, she was snotting and crying all over the place.”

“No way,” I laughed, imagining a tiny Morgan running around a Christmas tree. “Now that’s cute.”

“Yeah, well, what do you want from a country bumpkin like her? They are an honest bunch”

I softened my gaze and chuckled at the idea.

“She really is something.”

“Who is?”

We both gasped and suddenly turned around. I froze. Morgan and Marcus were standing about ten feet from us, wearing their now standard militarized uniforms. They looked like SWAT. Their rifles were slung and it was here that the seriousness of the situation around presented itself to me. Marcus was nursing a cup of coffee and looked tired as hell, ready to punch someone. Morgan, on the other hand, seemed fairly lively. Now that was unusual. I hadn’t seen her in person since she left the hospital over a month ago. Her hair was different now, cut in a bob-cut with her left eye covered by her side-swept bangs. Her usually half-closed eyes were now open wide and excited like a puppy. I swear I thought I saw her wagging a tail. She was eating an ice cream cone and holding… a bunch of bananas?

“Morgan?”

“Yo, what’cha doin’ out here, Ian?” she asked, licking the ice cream scoop. “Aren’tcha at work right now?”

“I got temporarily reassigned to help out here in the clean zone. I’m on break right now. What’s with the bananas?”

“Bananas are my favorite fruit. Why else.”

Murphy elbowed me.

“Don’t get any pervy ideas, Ian,” she whispered.

I elbowed her back.

“I could say the same for you,” I whispered back.

“Ah, that’s great. Glad ya here,” she chimed, lifting the bananas in front of her. “Here, since ya here, have some bananas.”

I opened my arms to receive them. But to my surprise, she gently placed the bunch atop my head.

“Huh? Where’d you get these? And why did you put them on my head?”

“I snatched ‘em up from some FEMA mess tent,” she said, laughing. “Bananas! Ya head’s full of ‘em bananas.”

My jaw slanted. I didn’t get the joke. Shrugging my shoulders, I took the bananas off my head and pulled one off the bunch. Peeling it, I took a bite, puzzled at the strange act. She really was a weird kid at heart. I looked her over from head to toe. I felt my heart pang with a warm feeling. It was true that old saying, ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’. And right now it seemed as if I was seeing her for the first time.

“Achoo!” She snorted uncontrollably, waving the ice cream cone wildly.

And like that, the magic was gone. Chocolate ice cream was covering her lip, on the tip of her nose and all around her mouth like a little kid. The ice cream was melting and was dripping on her chest. I felt Murphy’s elbow nudge me in the side. I looked down at her.

“You’re right, she is helpless,” Murphy said, pointing at the pools of ice cream melted on Morgan’s chest.

Morgan cocked her head in confusion.

“What’cha starin’ at?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is there somethin’ wrong? Somethin’ on my face?”

I snorted trying to contain a fit of laughter.

“Nothing at all, Morgan,” Murphy laughed, yanking my handkerchief from my hand.

She walked towards the two and wiped Morgan’s ice cream-covered face with it.

“Ah, my girl’s so messy. Look at you,” Murphy cooed.

“Shaddup, this ice cream’s suicidal is all,” Morgan pouted, sloppily licking her lips. “Why of all days is today so damn hot?”

“The sun’s out,” Marcus said. “That’s why.”

“It sucks wearin’ all this shit.”

Marcus shook his head and walked past the two towards me.

“How have things been here?” Marcus asked with a smile. “The clean zone keeping you busy?”

I sighed and crossed my arms.

“The usual, we’re low on medication but not with patients,” I said. “How about you?”

“We were patrolling around the Metropolitan Museum and Hunter College. They’ve taken all the exhibits down. It’s pretty eerie walking through a museum with no exhibits.”

“It’s safer that way. Can’t have looters taking them all. Besides, I doubt they’d have any visitors at this time.”

“I know. It’s just—”

He grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me in closer.

“I need to talk to you about Morgan. I’m worried for her,” he confessed, whispering into my ear. “She’s been worrying me for a while now.”

I looked over my shoulder. Morgan was busy getting her face cleaned up by Murphy. They were bantering with each other about something. I couldn't tell what it was. I grinned for a brief moment at the strange exchange. Then I turned to Marcus and my face sobered up.

“Walk with me,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder.

Marcus turned around.

“Oy, Morgan, I’m going to walk with Ian for a bit. Catch you back at the office, alright?”

I looked over my shoulder. Morgan was waving her arm enthusiastically. She gave a wink and stuck her tongue out to the side.

“Okey-dokey! See ya later! Murph and me are gonna see what else we can eat around here.”

I grinned and turned back. We then began walking down the path.

“Morgan seems fine to me,” I said. “A little more loopy than usual, maybe.”

“She’s more than a little loopy.”

“Why’s that?”

Marcus sighed and I released his shoulder.

“She shot and killed the infected man yesterday,” he revealed, taking his helmet off.

I flinched. My eyes widened. He sighed and looked to the sky.

“She saved my life,” he said, running a hand along his scalp.

“Christ,” I uttered. “So how has she been since, well, her suspension? I hadn’t talked to her since then.”

“Her hallucinations have gotten worse,” he said. “She’s been hearing things and seeing things for the past month, at least.”

“How do you know about that? Did she tell you?”

“Not directly. But I could tell something was wrong with her. Morgan’s a lazy son of a bitch. There’s no way in hell she’d go through the trouble to punch Patrick Jones in the face if she was acting normally.”

“Audible and visual hallucinations were a possibility after that severe brain trauma she suffered. I remember the day of the protests, she called me about them.”

“What did she say?”

“She was asking me about shared hallucinations.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Apparently so. I searched it up when she asked me. From what I learned, it’s called Folie à deux. It’s French for ‘madness of two.’ I’m not well versed in neuroscience but from I understanding, when two people become socially isolated they start to believe the delusions of the other as real.”

“That sounds like what’s been happening with these mass psychosis cases. Could they be related?”

“Possibly. It would explain the common delusions among those sick people. But it wouldn’t explain the other symptoms like the avoidance of bright lights or black bile discharge or the heightened senses. And from what I read, it’s a scientific curiosity not a hard set fact. It isn’t even in the DSM.”

“Morgan might have that then,” Marcus said.

“Why you say that?”

“I heard from a detective that she and a suspect we apprehended during the protest saw the same thing when they were interrogating him.”

“What did they see?”

“Apparently, the man knew Morgan was there even though he was behind one-way glass.”

“That’s freaky.”

“He couldn’t have known she was there and yet he did. And more so, he stated that she saw the same woman in the room with them, a white-haired version of Morgan.”

I stopped in my tracks. Furrowing my brow in intense thought, I turned to Marcus.

“Did you say he saw a white-haired Morgan?”

“Yeah? Why?”

I laughed, nervously, almost crazed. I was unable to deal with this right now. So much was going on and so much that I had to absorb. Everything was coming together. But it couldn’t be true.

“When those protesters broke into the hospital, Morgan killed two of them.”

“Yeah, I remember. She tore one of their arms off with her bare hands. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Her hair was white.”

“What?”

“Her hair had turned snow-white during the break in. She had lost it like how she did during the protests. Didn’t you see the CCTV footage?”

“No, it wasn’t our jurisdiction, it was the Nineteenth’s. Besides, the Captain had restricted my viewing of it since it involved Morgan.”

“Believe me when I say it, Marcus. Morgan is sick. She’s been since she went into that coma. Something’s changed in her. You saw her eye.”

“Yeah, some kind of side effect, she told me,” Marcus remembered.

“When she woke up the first time during the attack, her red eye was reflective like that of a dog’s or a lion’s at night. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, like in those animal shows, right?”

“Exactly. The human eye is not reflective like that. There’s a membrane in some animals that reflects light so they can see in the dark better. But that’s impossible for humans so why and how would she acquire that trait from a car bomb? It doesn’t make any sense.” I exhaled, placing both hands behind my back in exasperation.

“And her hair. How can hair turn from black to white and back so quickly?” I asked, rhetorically. “Her hair was as white as snow when she went in that ‘beserker’ mode then back to black when she seized up and went unconscious again. Something’s definitely wrong with her, Marcus.”

“I know what you mean,” he sighed. “When we were working last night, we had about a hundred people in the building. They were belligerent and weren’t listening. But that was to be expected from a bunch of tired people being forced out of their homes. But then Morgan just lost it like how she was during the protest.”

He turned to me. We stopped at the South Gate House. I leaned against the brick.

“She pointed a gun at a kid, Ian,” he frowned.

My eyes widened.

“Morgan did that?” I asked, in shock. “Morgan? Our Morgan?”

“Yeah, she’s changed, Ian. Just like you said. Ever since that coma, she’s been different. Not obviously, but there’s something different about her,” he confirmed. “She seems distant and irritable. Even dangerous when she’s angry.”

I didn’t respond. All I could do was soak in what he was saying. It was strange and I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. I couldn’t even imagine seeing Morgan point a rifle at anyone, much less at a child. This girl, this woman that I saw eating corndogs and wearing funny hats and barely able to walk during hot days did that? I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t. But it was coming from Marcus and he had no reason to lie or misconstrue what he saw.

“She told me this morning that when everyone was yelling yesterday night at the Taft Houses, she blacked out for a bit. She was hallucinating them as monsters.”

“Has she been going to get medication? She can’t be going around and doing these kinds of things.”

“You know as well as I that if she were to even ask about that, they’d ship her off to some quarantine site on Long Island with all the others,” Marcus retorted. “That’s practically a death sentence, Ian.”

“But she needs help if this is true,” I reasoned. “She might hurt someone from her delusions. What if she shot that child? Hell, what if she shot you?”

“That’ll never happen. Besides, you said it yourself, we’re low on medication. You really think they’d have any anti-psychotic drugs available here? They’re been shipping that shit by the freight car to Long Island. There’s nothing here for Morgan to use.”

“Then why the hell is she even working if she’s this delusional that she’d be pointing a weapon at a child?”

“We can’t spare any officers. We’ve lost over four hundred officers since this damn thing started, Ian. We’ve lost fifteen just this week alone. We need everyone.”

I scratched the back of my neck.

“And what happens when Morgan becomes too uncontrollable?”

“That won’t happen.”

“ _ If _ it does, what will you do?” I reiterated, raising my voice. “You’re her friend, Marcus. I am, too. For god’s sake I—I like her. But we have to think about everyone’s safety, including hers.”

“I have already planned for that. Don’t worry. I’ve noticed that whenever there's a lot of screaming and yelling, she acts up. That’s what I told the captain. So long as we keep her on quieter posts, she should be fine.”

“I don’t like this at all, Marcus.”

“Me neither, but this is the best we can do.”

“Keep a close eye on her.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice. Her outbursts aren’t the only thing I’m worried about.”

“What else is wrong?”

“The precinct’s been getting a whole lot of death threats because of the killing at the Taft Houses. Most of them have been directed at Morgan,” Marcus exhaled, scratching his neck.

“What’s the precinct doing about it?” I asked, concerned. “Morgan doesn’t live in the clean zone like you and your family.”

He crossed his arms.

“I’ve been trying to convince Morgan to stay with us until it blows over but she wholeheartedly refuses. She says she’s ‘not afraid of some mooks’ so she refused any help. And since we’re low on manpower, the precinct can’t spare any men to check up on her at her home.”

“Are the threats credible?”

“With what’s been going on recently, we can’t take any chances. But at the same time, we can’t do anything.”

I nodded, “she only lives a few minutes from the park, and with her armed to the teeth like the other officers I’ve seen, I don’t think we have to worry too much. Besides, threats are just threats.”

“Dammit, why does she have to be so stubborn?”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. She can handle herself, right?” I said, taking another banana from the bunch. “Have you forgotten it’s Morgan?”

“Heh, to think someone would say that to me about her,” Marcus smiled. “You really are thinking about her too much.”

I turned away so he couldn’t see my face.

“It’s not like I think about her every waking hour.”

“Yeah, you’re too married to your job,” he laughed. “You’ve always been like that. Too little time for a relationship. This is why you’re single.”

I turned back to Marcus, my face straight in disposition.

“I’ll make time for her.”

Marcus smiled.

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate it when you finally tell her you like her.”

I waved him off.

“This ain’t the time for that.”

Suddenly, two children ran past us towards where Morgan and Murphy were. It was a boy and his younger sister I presumed. All of a sudden, the boy pushed the girl to the ground. She cried out as she fell against a tree root. I felt a lump in my chest as the girl tumbled onto the grass and began to cry. The boy laughed. I started to walk towards the girl to help when suddenly, their mother ran up to them from my left. I stopped.

“George, Sarah! What are you two doing?” She exclaimed. “Look at you.”

She stopped and helped the girl up, wiping her knee.

“George, you can’t do that to your little sister,” she scolded. “What if she got hurt?”

“Whatever,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes and walking off down the path.

I frowned. I felt my heart grow heavy all of a sudden. The boy felt too familiar. Even when everything’s falling apart, boys will be boys.

The woman sighed and held the girl’s hand before walking off in the same direction. As I was about to look away, the girl turned her head to face me. Her dark eyes peered into mine. They looked so familiar. Then suddenly, a sharp pain thrust through my stomach. My eyes widened. I gasped and clutched my chest and swiveled swiftly to face the lake. I vomited.

“Yak, guah!”

I wiped my mouth with a tissue. What the hell was that? Why did I just—was I sick? I spat into the reservoir.

“Ian? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the bananas,” I said.

Marcus narrowed his eyes.

“Was it about that girl, Ian?”

“What?”

“She reminds you of your sister, doesn’t she?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ian, don’t bullshit me. We’ve been friends for ten years,” he chided. “Are you still thinking about what happened with Jenna?”

I flinched. Marcus sighed.

“What happened to your sister had nothing to do with you,” he said. “That man deserved everything he got.”

I spat on the ground and turned away.

“Isn’t it time for you to go back to the office,” I said, coldly. “I’m sure Morgan’s waiting for you.”

Marcus grunted in agreement before walking away to the station. I kept my gaze on the lake. Why was I thinking about that now? It was a long time ago. I’m not at fault. Marcus said so himself. I’m not at fault. I’m not at fault.

* * *

 

Tonight was very humid. I was sweating bullets and my clothes stuck to my skin, itching me all over. I was walking north from the Great Lawn along West Drive towards the police station. Tents and barrel fires were all along the asphalt road. A lot of people were moping around. The incessant sound of coughing and the crackle of fires and indiscernible murmuring was omnipresent in the southern half of the camp south of Eighty-fifth. Today was a long day. I’d been working for the last ten hours straight. Now that the sun had set, I needed to go to bed; I started early tomorrow. I looked up to the sky. It had darkened now and the bright floodlights illuminated the park, leaving few dim places besides the large field tents and trees. Stopping at a tree, I leaned on it as I checked my phone. Morgan was calling me.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ian, how ya doin’?” She asked, chewing on something. “You’s sound tired on speaker.”

“Yeah, tired to all hell but I’m fine,” I said. “You finished your shift?”

“Been done since we last chatted,” she corrected. “We got night shift tonight so I’ve been catchin’ ‘em z’s on the couch.”

“When do you start work?”

“In about an hour. I just woke up,” she yawned. “Just tryin’ to wake up before Marcus calls me.”

“Man that’s gotta suck for your sleep schedule having to switch from day to night every day.”

“It ain’t so bad. We get to work fewer hours per shift. Besides, the NGs are takin’ the brunt of thin’s down south. I got lucky. I’m bein’ assigned to camp guard duty. Just gotta patrol the paths north of the station.”

She didn’t know. I was crestfallen. I remembered what Marcus and I talked about earlier today. She was so enthusiastic. Then I remembered what he said about the Taft Houses.

“Isn’t it lucky? I get to chill and get the quiet sections.”

“Yeah, quite lucky,” I said as a family passed me. “Did you eat yet?”

“Eatin’ right now. This slop they’ve been feedin’ us sucks. But hey, its food.”

“How about before your shift you come down to my tent. I’ll whip up something quick for you?”

“Really?!” She exclaimed. “Sweet, okay, I’ll head down there right now.”

I laughed. Then suddenly, I heard a loud explosion. It nearly knocked me off my feet. I jumped at the sudden deafening noise. I whipped around and froze up.

“Ian? What was that?”

I and others just stared for a moment as a massive fiery explosion billowed out above the trees south of us, illuminating everything in a bright orange glow. As the debris began to fall, the sounds of screams tore the silence. People around me were running in the opposite direction or into their tents and trailers. The crackle of gunfire tore through the air and sent my stiff feet running, too. As I ran, soldiers and officers were running towards the explosion and the sounds of gunfire.

“Get out of the way!” An officer shouted. “Stay in your tents!”

“Morgan! Morgan, you have to come here now!” I shouted into the phone. “There’s been an explosion or something at the camp!”

I heard Morgan slam her fist on the table.

“Fuckin’ dammit!” she cursed. “Alright, I better get goin’ then. Catch ya—”

Suddenly, on the phone, I heard the sound of knocking.

“What’s that?”

“Someone’s knockin’ on my door. Hold on a second,” she said, placing the phone down on her coffee table.

I ran and hid behind a tree. I had to cover one of my ears because it was so loud out here. Everyone was screaming and panicking from whatever was happening south of us. I listened closely as Morgan walked towards the door. I could hear the soft tapping of her feet on the floor get quiet and quieter until silence. Then I heard the sound of her unlocking the door. The phone slid on the ground with a thump and then silence. I listened closely. Luckily, the phone had landed on the back side since I could now hear again. Suddenly I heard a bang and muffled screaming. Then more voices, men’s. I froze up listening carefully. What was happening?

“Let—you—ahh! Fuc—ou!”

“Morgan? Morgan, are you there? What’s happening?”

“Help—ape—oaf!”

“The fucking bitch bit me,” a man’s voice shouted.

My heart sank. Someone was in her house; she was in danger. Suddenly, my ears were assaulted by Morgan screaming. I had never heard something like that before. I wasn’t an idiot, Morgan was in danger. I had to find Marcus. I got up and began to run towards the station, weaving through the crowd in a desperate race for time. Morgan had none. Any second delay and she was dead.

“Morgan? Morgan, please answer me.”

“Who’s this, her boyfriend?” A gruff voice sneered over the phone.

I gulped. I could practically hear his grin.

“Who’s this, where’s Morgan?” I asked.

“The bitch is a little busy with us right now,” he cackled. “This is what the bitch gets for killing our friend.”

“Let her go, the police are on their way!” I lied.

“Don’t worry, we won’t be long. It’s too bad you ain’t here to see what we’re gonna do to her.”

I could hear Morgan screaming in the background and the sound of fists slamming into flesh. My lip twitched.

“You motherfucker, hurt her and you’re fucking dead!” I snapped.

He laughed. Then the phone was turned off. I screamed in anger as I pushed people so that I could run. Suddenly, I saw Marcus and some other officers. I recognized them. It was Damon and Wong, two of his squad mates he’d bring along with us when we went out for drinks sometimes. They were running down West Drive towards the crowd and me. I jumped and waved for him.

“Marcus! Marcus, over here!”

“Ian? Get out of here, it’s dangerous!”

“I can’t! I need your help. It’s Morgan! Someone’s broken into her apartment!”

“What?” He gasped, turning to Wong. “Are you serious?”

“Fucking shit!” Damon cursed.

“How the hell are we going to get there in time?” Wong asked.

Out of nowhere, a Humvee with a squad of soldiers was heading southbound towards the explosion and gunfire. I pointed to it. Marcus turned and clapped his hands. He stepped in front of it. The Humvee stopprf. An angry soldier stuck his head out the window.

“Move out of the way!”

“We need your Humvee,” Marcus shouted.

“Go find another one then, we’re heading to the Columbus Circle,” the soldier said. “Redeemers shot up the checkpoint.”

“And my partner is about to get raped and killed in her apartment by fucking thugs! Now get out, you can go on foot. We need it now!”

The other soldiers in the truck whispered amongst each other. After a moment, the driver reluctantly stepped out. The rest followed suit.

“Get that Humvee down to West and Central, got it!?”

“Count on it,” Marcus nodded. “Okay, Wong, Damon, let’s go!”

They nodded, climbing into the vehicle. I followed but Marcus stopped me.

“I’m coming, too.”

“No, I need you to go back to the station,” he ordered, climbing into the driver’s seat. There’s an ambulance out front. “Go there and tell them to head to Morgan’s apartment, got it?”

I nodded, “I’ll be right behind you guys!”

He began backing up the Humvee. They drove off north toward Eighty-fifth, leaving me alone on the road. A sudden rush of adrenaline came over me and I turned and ran off towards the station. After a few minutes, I reached Eighty-fifth. Sprinting down the road, I saw the distant headlights of a parked ambulance appear down the road. I ran like I had never run before, dodging people running around. When I finally reached the station, my breath was gone and I felt my legs give way. I fell to the ground on my hands and knees. The driver stepped out and ran towards me.

“Sir, are you okay?”

“There’s… been… a break in,” I gasped, standing up. “A woman is being assaulted in her apartment. The responding officers told me to tell you to go there!”

The driver nodded.

“Okay, where’s it at?”

Telling him the address, he motioned for me to get in the back. I nodded and headed behind the ambulance. The doors swung open and two men greeted me.

“You a doctor?” One of the EMTs asked.

“Yeah, Mount Sinai’s Emergency wing. The police asked me to come with you guys.”

“Normally, we’d wait for verification but these ain’t normal days,” the driver said from the front. “Strap in.”

Sitting down in the back with the two EMTs, the ambulance lurched forward. We began to head down Eighty-fifth.

“Command, this is Wagon-Five, heading to Three-seventy-two Central Park West. Police action requesting medical assistance, over.”

“Copy that. Stay on this channel.”

I clasped my hands and closed my eyes. My heart was pounding in my chest at every second we were heading to Morgan's apartment. I was shaking like crazy from the energy trapped in my bones. I would have run there myself if I could but this was the best way. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I took any unnecessary risks that could endanger myself or others. And I squeezed my hands and hoped nothing would happen.

After a few minutes, the lurching of the ambulance tore me from my thoughts.

“What’s happening?” One of the EMTs asked.

“Christ, the apartment’s on fire!” The driver shouted.

I shot up from my seat. No, no, what did they do? Was Morgan still inside? And what about Marcus and the others?

“Command, this is Wagon-Five, over.”

“Copy that, Five, what’s the call status?”

“We got a fire at the Central Park Towers, Three-seventy-two Central Park West. Looks like people are being evacuated by police. Requesting an engine, over.”

“Copy that, clear to assist.”

I stood up and kicked the door open. I jumped out and spun to see what was happening. The two EMTs followed. I looked up and gasped. Morgan’s apartment building was ablaze. Everything above the tenth floor was ablaze in orange fire and smoke billowed out. People were running, desperate to get away. I saw the EMTs rush towards a woman that had fallen on the street. As I ran towards her, I saw the Humvee. It was parked on the sidewalk. I turned and ran towards it. I saw Damon and Wong emerging from the building with a handful of people as another Humvee arrived at the scene.

“That’s the last of them!” Damon shouted. “We got to clear out!”

As I reached the Humvee, I saw Marcus coming out of the apartment with Morgan. She was on his back in the saddleback carry, her arms around his neck and his arms crossed to support her legs. Her eyes were closed and she was resting her head on his shoulder. She had a black eye, bruised cheek and was bleeding from her lip and forehead. Her clothes were also torn and burnt. I ran to them.

“Marcus! How’s Morgan?” I asked, walking with them towards the Humvee. “What happened?”

“The fuckers torched the place when we got there. They bailed before we could catch them,” he explained. “She’s pretty messed up but she’ll be fine.”

He looked me straight in the eye.

“They didn’t ‘touch’ her.”

I nodded, relieved. She stirred.

“Did ya get my computer out?” she gagged, coughing from the smoke.

“Morgan, this ain’t the time. I’ll buy you a new one later.”

“Fuck,” she groaned, a tear falling. “It’s gone. It’s all gone.”

“You can stay with us,” Marcus said, adjusting her. “You can be like the dog and sleep on the counter.”

She chuckled.

“Ya shoulda seen ‘em. They're worse off than me,” she moaned, slurring her words. “Ouch.”

I gulped, running my hand through her hair. My heart hurt seeing her like this.

“C’mon, the ambulance is here.”

As I led them to the ambulance, I turned back to Morgan. She was drooling on Marcus. The fabric was turning darker.

“Ah, c’mon, Morgan, don’t drool on me,” Marcus groaned.

I turned away, my voice caught in my throat.

Reaching the ambulance, the sound of an explosion sent me diving for cover. I looked up. The gas line in the apartment must have burst. A plume of fire shot up in the air. I got up as Marcus and one of the EMTs dragged Morgan into the ambulance. I helped lay her down on a stretcher.

“Ma’am, can you breathe?” The EMT asked.

“Never better, I got out before I could breathe in smoke,” Morgan moaned.

He nodded and turned his attention to a more seriously injured patient.

“Get in, everyone. We have to clear the way for the engines!” The driver shouted.

The sound of a fire truck south of us began to grow louder.

“Ian, stay with Morgan,” Marcus said, running to the Humvee and the others.. “I have to get this Humvee to West and Central. I’ll meet you guys back at the station.”

I nodded and hopped in. The ambulance was packed. Besides myself, the two EMTs and Morgan, there were about ten others, all covered with burns and cuts. I turned from Morgan to assist one of the EMTs with a patient suffering from smoke inhalation. I took a Medical ventilator from one of the shelves and handed it to the EMT. I began squeezing the bag to let the woman breathe.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. You’ll be fine. Just fine,” the EMT said.

“Doc, close the doors.”

I turned to grab the doors. But as I did. Morgan began crying weakly.

“My—My apartment!” she cried out, raising a hand towards the burning building.

Her face was moist from her tears and blood. She waved her hand as if to grab a hold of the building.

“It’s gone,” she whimpered. “It’s all gone.”

I closed the door.

* * *

 

“Ah, fuckin’ shit,” Morgan hissed, slurring her words. “Ian, watch it.”

“Sorry, but we got to clean this cut,” I said, applying antiseptic to her split lip. “The burn means that it’s working.”

She pouted at my teasing.

“What a fuckin’ shitty week,” she moaned, sighing. “I fuckin’ shoot a man, his friends beat the shit outta me and to top it off my house burns down. What’s next?”

“It could be worse,” I pointed out, kneeling before her.

I had her sitting on a bench just outside of her office.

“How? My computer’s gone. I spent a small fortune on it, ya’know.”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“So cliche,” she laughed, wincing in pain. “Ouch.”

“There, all done,” I assured, placing a bandage on her lip and one on the cut on her forehead.

“How do I look?” She asked, tittering. “I can barely see outta my eye and my face’s sore as fuck. I feel like I got hit in the face with a fryin’ pan.”

“Well, besides a few minor cuts, you got a black eye,” I said, looking her over. “It’s a pretty big shiner at that.”

The bruise around her eye was the size of a softball. Her right eye was barely open and bloodshot. Her left was more or less normal save for the eye color. She was still in her boxers and a tank top. Her forearms were covered in handprints-shaped bruises. She looked like the battered women that would come into the ER after their husbands beat the living crap out of them. I swallowed, clenching my teeth. I just really wanted to hold her right now. She looked so small and vulnerable, like a baby deer and I wanted to get rid of all her pain. But I withheld myself. Now wasn’t the time.

“It could be much worse.”

“Yeah, I could’da been fucked up the ass, tonight,” she laughed.

“That’s not something to joke about,” I chided, my voice lowering. “They could have really hurt you bad.”

She stopped laughing and grumbled.

“I know that. I’m jokin’ to keep from thinkin’ ‘bout it,” she said, exasperated. “If I think ‘bout it too much I’ll—it’ll be hard to sleep.”

I bowed my head. I took her hands in mine.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, now,” I said, softly patting her hand.

“I was never okay,” she dismissed, half-joking.

I didn’t reciprocate. Her words did not reassure me. I stood up, dusting my hands. I turned my attention to the news on the television inside the office.

_ After another bloody day of fighting, Houston PD and the Texas National Guard have finally broke through TLF lines and have routed them from Downtown effectively liberating the city. This comes after three days of intense fighting after it had fallen to the Texas Liberation Front Monday night. But this victory has been marred with high casualties and slow progress. With over six thousand civilians killed in the battle, riots have broken out in neighboring cities threatening to overwhelm the already stretched National Guard. Meanwhile in the city of Chicago, another night of protests continue following the massacre of a hundred and thirteen peaceful protestors by police on Wednesday. We got our local correspondent, Julia Farnsworth on the scene. _

“What a whole load of shit,” Morgan groaned.

I turned back to Morgan.

“It’s shitty cops like those that make my job a whole shitload worse. Fuckin’ dumbasses shooting protesters. Punch them, kick them, I don’t care. But shoot ‘em? Idiots.”

“Yeah, well, it ain’t getting any easier,” I added, crossing my arms.

“Eh, Morgan,” a voice called out.

We turned around. Marcus was walking from down the hall. He was suited up like he was earlier today.

“Marcus, you’re back.”

He nodded, turning from me to Morgan.

“Morgan, how you doing?”

“Well, besides being homeless now and gettin’ my ass handed to me four ways to Sunday, I’m alright,” she said, stretching.

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, more or less. I’d rather sit here, though. I’m feelin’ a bit woozy.”

“Can you see out of your left eye?”

“Yeah, pretty much. It’s my right that’s fucked.”

“Well, it can’t be helped. Go get suited up, we’ve been called up to help secure the Bethesda fountain.”

“Hah? Excuse me?” Morgan mocked. “I couldn’t hear ya over my damn injuries!”

“You heard me. The squad’s moving out.”

She groaned, raising her hands in defeat.

“Seriously? I was beaten all the hell. Can’t I take a night off?”

“If we don’t control this situation, you won’t have a place to sleep. The southern perimeter’s been compromised. We’re being called up to help Squad Three.”

“Morgan’s injured, Marcus,” I protested. “She can barely see out of her right eye. I think she’d better stay put and rest.”

“Can’t, we’ve been ordered to. All available officers, no exceptions.”

“Marcus,” I pressed.

“Do you think I like this any more than you?” he spat. “But we have to go. We’re facing a city-wide riot right now. Redeemers have already attacked the Battery Park Center and the Police Headquarters. We swore an oath to serve. And besides, what the National Guard orders, we do. ”

“Yeah, yeah, don’tcha go all drama queen on me, alright?” She said, dismissively.

“Alright Morgan, I put your gear in the squad office.”

“Ya think they’d let me go out like this?” She laughed, pointing to her rather short eggplant-print boxers.

“If you want to get laughed at, sure,” Marcus smirked.

She waved him off and stood up slowly like an old woman.

“Alright, but ya better save me some rations for this,” she pointed limping towards Marcus. “And I better get to sit down when we get there.”

“You got it,” Marcus smiled, patting her on the shoulder.

She hissed, reeling from the contact.

“Aah shit, I’m sore as fuck, Marcus. Don’t touch.”

“Sorry,” Marcus laughed.

“Catch ya on the flip side,” Morgan said, looking over her shoulder at me.

I frowned and nodded.

“Take it easy, okay?” I requested, handing her a bottle. “Take these.”

“Painkillers? What am I, Max Payne?”

I smiled, weakly.

“It’ll help with your pain. But are you going to be an addict?” I joked.

“Nah, that’s too expensive.”

She looked at them before nodding to herself than to me.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling.

I blinked, noticing something. It was subtle but I saw the twitch in her busted lip. She turned and headed off down the empty hallway and disappeared around a corner. As soon as she was gone, I deflated and fell back onto the bench with a thud. Marcus sat beside me.

“Does she ever catch a break?” I asked, half-joking and half somber. “Gets beat all the hell then goes to work in the same hour.”

“Does any of us?” Marcus smirked. “Damn Redeemers.”

He looked at me. His smiled turned to a blank line.

“No, I don’t suppose any of us do. I don’t know why but she’s been getting in trouble a lot lately.”

“I’m worried for her,” I confessed. “How much more does she have to go through before she’s out of commission? There’s only so much a person can take. I mean, every time I see her she gets all beat to hell.”

“I wouldn’t worry about her too much, Ian.”

“How can you say that? She nearly died again,” I said. “You saw her face. She was hiding behind that smile. She thinks we don’t know.”

“I know, you don’t have to tell me that, Ian. She’s my partner. I know how she is more than anyone.”

“It’s not normal, Marcus. Her house burned down and she got beaten and nearly raped an hour ago. A normal person would be curled up in a ball in tears. But she’s making it look like a Sunday drive.”

“She’s tough, Ian. She bounces back quickly.”

“She’s pushing herself too hard,” I told him. “No amount of toughness can hide that.”

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Heh, then you really know how Morgan thinks then. How any of us think.”

He turned to me. He had a knowing smile on his face.

“She’s a tough cop. Living that kind of life has its own unique way of changing a person,” I suggested. “Isn’t that right?”

He nodded.

“That’s true. You either numb up and get used to the things we do and see or you crack. Morgan’s no exception to that rule. To you, it’s weird seeing her so ‘normal’ after all this. But to those of us living this life, it’s a necessity.”

I nodded, understandingly.

“Trampolines are fun aren't they?” He asked, suddenly.

I turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s random.” I smirked.

“Here me out, will you?”

I nodded, apprehensively and unsure of what he was talking about.

“Think of a trampoline, Ian. The harder people jump on them to get things done, the higher it makes them soar, right?”

I looked at him. Then I began to realize what he was saying.

“That’s how it’s always been with my ‘trampoline.’”

I looked at my feet. I smiled, deciding to play along. Looking up to the ceiling fan above, I crossed my arms.

“I see. I had a feeling but I never thought about it in any substantial way. I saw the way the trampoline helped people feel at ease. It made me feel at ease, that’s for sure. Sure, it didn’t bounce so high at first.”

“But when it needs to, it was right for the job, am I right?”

I nodded, turning my head to Marcus. Marcus sighed and leaned against the wall as well.

“Yeah, it was.”

“But sometimes people just don’t seem to want to play with the trampoline. I don’t know why. Seeing it, the trampoline looks like the greatest fun a guy could ask for. It’s always there for you, it never hurts you,” Marcus gave a knowing smile.

“It may be a bit small but it’s built in all the right ways. It’s always a reliable thing to have in your life. But I guess some people just can’t see its merits,” I added.

Marcus sighed and ran his hand along his shaven head. Then he gave me an inquisitive look. I smiled back indicating that we could drop it. I already knew what he was talking about.

“If you saw it on every Valentine’s Day you’d know what I mean,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I mean who wants to play on a trampoline on Valentine's Day, anyway? It's always by itself. Been so for a long time with no one around for it.”

His tone was now a somber and serious one. He turned his eyes to me but kept his face forward.

“She’s very trusting of people despite how she seems and it doesn’t take a long time to garner her trust. You should know. But when you do become lucky enough to earn her trust, she’ll never forget that. That’s why everyone in the precinct protects her, the Darling of the CPP. She is the precinct.”

The sounds of footsteps drew near. He stood up.

“You get what I’m saying?” He asked.

“Yeah, I understand.”

He smiled, patting me on the shoulder before walking past me.

“Then I leave her in your care from now on,” he said in passing.

My smile faded.

“But would she love me if she knew what I did?” I asked. “I still can’t forgive myself for that.”

He stopped and turned to me. He placed a hand on my shoulder.

“That was a long time ago, Ian,” Marcus sighed. “Remember what I said earlier today? That man deserved everything he got for what he did to your sister. You’re a good man, Ian, the best I know. A mistake’s a mistake.”

“Am I really? If she knew I don’t think she’d ever look at me again if she knew what I did.”

“Then you don’t know Morgan or what she’s done, either,” he said, turning from me. “Or what I’ve done.”

I nodded, hesitant but accepting of his words.

“Oy! Marcus, I’m ready, let’s get this over with!”

We turned to the voice. Morgan was standing at the corner of where the two halls converged. She was suited up, a cigarette between her lips.

“I’ll be there in a sec, wait up,” he said.

I smiled and looked over my shoulder. Marcus then stepped forward. I did the same, facing him in the middle of the empty hallway. Morgan was fiddling with her vest down the hall. It was cute seeing her waiting impatiently for Marcus like some kid. Then I saw her busted lips and blackened eye and my face sobered.

“So what is it that you want, Ian?” He asked me. “What is she to you?”

I paused for a moment as I internally accepted what I had known for a while now.

“A boy asked me a while back when Morgan and I went to the Aquarium. He asked me what Morgan was to me,” I said. “ To me, she’s someone I have feelings for. But these feelings aren’t like I had for other women, Marcus. I want to take things slow, this time. I want to cherish her.”

“Good answer, anything less than that and I’d have punched you,” Marcus laughed.

“I won’t ever hurt her,” I said, looking Marcus in the eye.

“Damn straight you won’t,” he nodded. “Time is not a guarantee, Ian. When the time is right, make sure you tell her when you can. Don’t have regrets.”

I nodded, shaking his hand.

“I won’t. Now get out there. They need you.”

He nodded and walked down the hall. They then turned and disappeared. I stood there staring where Morgan was for a moment. Suddenly, my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Doctor Benson, we need you back at the emergency room. We’re receiving a lot of injured. Mostly gunshot wounds and burns.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon, bye.”

I ended the call and tucked it away. Does it ever end? I shook my head, knowing the answer. It never does.


	20. Now Manhattan Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Order crumbles to dust from the erosion of months of strife and discord. Now after months of unbearable loss and hardship, the embers of decay and discord have found kindling in the hearts of the downtrodden and the wronged. Across the United States, militias have arisen in these dark days bolstered by the hatred of many against the oppression of the weakened State. Now the masses rise in New York and elsewhere, emboldened by the call for revolution with Morgan unwittingly dragged into the fray. And so it begins. The bell tolls. The hour of which all shall fall is close at hand and ticks to zero. The ground rumbles and the shadows whisper and now Manhattan burns.

This is what I envision[ **Morgan’s voice**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcRrliGGfD0) sounds like.

* * *

To think it’d get any worse than on Friday. Heh, I was wrong. Now today was a fucking Monday and it was worse. Everything I saw on TV was nothing but bad news after more fucking bad news. So-and-so city, town, county is experiencing widespread protests in response to so-and-so bad thing happening with so-and-so many people dead with so-and-so telling the American people that it is getting better. It was always the same. I thought it was bad enough that crime had reached the point in which emergency services had to choose which ones it would respond to. It was an outrageous thing to do, deciding who was deserving of police or ambulance attention and who wasn’t. But we couldn’t reach them all in time. We just didn’t have the manpower or the resources to respond to thousands of calls at the same time every waking hour. No one besides the call operators could ever understand that feeling of ending a call because it ‘wasn’t important enough’. I knew it wouldn’t be long before we had to have someone keep an eye on them to stop them from trying to off themselves. The story the other day when a responder had to choose between a church filled with women and girls being gang raped and a preschool being shot up by armed thugs was the pinnacle in this entire tale of complete and utter human garbage. It was a fucking no-win situation. That was the moment when the public turned against us entirely. They knew this shit had gone too far. They were probably thinking, ‘what’s the point in a police force if they couldn’t do shit?’ That anger between them and us was not making things any easier and maybe that was why these militias popping up everywhere seemed so appealing. Why rely on the government or the public emergency services when you and your friends could easily go grab your guns and patrol the streets of your town and take the task of policing and ‘justice’ into your own hands? That was already an annoyance before all this happened. But now, it was a big problem. If the bigger militias got too ambitious, we’d have a fucking problem on our hands. We were already seeing that with the biggest one, the Redeemers and their piss and vinegar insurgency across the US. That was why I was sitting in the back of this armored carrier suited up more for war than riot duty. I checked my rifle. The darkness around me kept myself away from the danger outside and inward at my own thoughts. But every now and then, I would force myself away and see if there was anything to say.

“Marcus,” I called out, turning to my right. “Got a cig?”

He turned to me, lifting the rim of his helmet so our eyes met.

“Morgan, when you look into my eyes, what do you see?”

I paused for comic effect, looking deep into his rich-brown eyes. They were half-lidded like mine in an unamused expression.

“Hmm, I see a man ready to give his best buddy a fresh pack of menthols.”

He made an exaggerated frown.

“Nice try. Why would I have any? You know I don’t smoke.”

“Can’t hurt askin’,” I shrugged. “Fuckin’ ran out of smokes the other day. I can’t afford an eighty dollar pack.”

“Then maybe you should quit,” he smirked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“The day I get married,” I joked.

He hummed to himself.

“I don’t suppose it wouldn’t hurt at least taking a break until the price drops, eh?”

“I guess,” I nodded. “Though, I reckon I could trade somethin’ at ‘em shoebox markets along Fifth for a cig, at least.”

“You going to stand on the corner with your leg out?” He questioned, flashing a teasing grin. “I didn’t think you’d be desperate enough to do that.”

I smacked him on the shoulder.

“Ah, shaddup ya big oaf,” I giggled.

“You're right. Who’d take you up on that?” He continued his teasing.

“Hey, I can be popular with the fellas. My hips be of the birthin’ persuasion, Marcus,” I said, mimicking a deep Appalachian drawl. “They’s be the kind that men be lustin’ after. And who’d not want some of this.”

I made a stupid and overly dramatic pose.

“God, you’re an idiot,” he snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You sure you didn’t get dropped as a kid?”

I scoffed at his remark.

“Being in the bottom half of ya class don’t mean anythin’.”

“Okay, Einstein.”

“Shaddup ya Valedictorian noob. Anyway, if I really need a cig, I can always trade in my sneakers.”

“You’d trade your shoes for a cigarette?” He questioned. “Man, you _are_ desperate.”

My lip twitched. My habit was getting worse. I was always an occasional smoker. But now with all that had happened in the last few months, I was becoming a regular black lung.

“Yeah, maybe,” I whispered. “Would ya rather have me flip my shit again?”

He frowned.

“Anything but that.”

Silence came and I scratched the back of my head, trying to continue the conversation. I failed in finding something of relevance to speak of and so Marcus returned to his task, checking and rechecking his gear. I turned from him and faced forward to Gonzales and Rogers talking to each other on the other side of the APC’s troop bay. Everyone tried to hide their anxiety but it was oozing out of all of us like a bad case of body odor. It was a poison that needed to be vented out of this dark and cramp armored carrier. This fear came from all this crime. It was putting all of us on edge. Who’d get shot next? Hell, who’d get killed next? The cells at the station were filled to the brim. We were getting overworked and it was showing. I could see it in Roger’s dark-brown eyes. The lines of stress were showing. Gonzales, too, was wilting. His normally brown skin was pale and sickly. I shifted in my seat. This atmosphere around the city from all this crime and shit needed to be released or else we’d all drown in it. But perhaps a bigger issue was what was causing all this crime.

They were calling it the ‘Second Great Depression’. But that would make it seem way better than it was. For the past three months, every market across the globe looked like a cliff. Inflation was growing out of control. A stack of Benjamin's couldn’t buy you a pack of cigarettes, let alone food or water. The Pound was basically the same and the Euro was better off as toilet paper. I don't even want to mention gas; my car was more use to me as storage for my tool box than a way to get around. Banks and ATMs were closed everywhere because people were withdrawing too much, too quickly. Whatever cash I had in my account couldn’t even be reached. They were paying us on credit with the promise of back pay and rations rather than cash. It was like a fucking bargaining economy now, people were trading everything on the street, hawking their wares on Fifth Avenue like some bazaar. It was no wonder why militias were forming up against the government. From what I saw on the news, everything east of Saint Louis was becoming almost feudal. It was like a step back in time. Next thing I knew, there’d be feudal lords and knights roaming around. We were already kind of seeing that with fucking mooks with god-complexes declaring their independence.

Everywhere, law and order crumbled as nations fell into anarchy and civil war. Britain had quarantined itself, closing its borders to everyone, even to expats trying to come back. No one outside of Britain knew what the hell was going on after they cut all communication lines. It was an information blackout. Japan did the same, and Cuba, and the rest of the island nations around the world. I guess they were hoping to ride out the storm in isolation. Best of luck to them. No one knew what was happening in China since the government shut off the internet servers in the country. Cartels were seizing control in anarchy in South America. Everyone here feared that what was happening there would happen here, too. Canada and even Mexico were being inundated with American refugees and vice versa. And here on the East coast, it was a complete no-show. It was strange. Everything west of Saint Louis seemed all hunky dory, save for the gratuitous protests and unrest and FEMA camps along the Mississippi. For whatever reason, they weren’t getting any psycho cases. I’d have thought that this thing would have had cases over there by now. But it wasn’t. Its movement pattern was much different than a traditional virus, according to some bald-headed scientist on the news. But it seemed as if these psycho cases were being cast aside for more salient matters. There was the economic fallout from the civil wars in the Middle East. Then there was the rise of ultranationalism in Europe and the internal sectarian unrest brought on by the Redeemers here. Whatever, fine, I didn’t care. And here in little New York, we were swamped with our own fucking mess.

New York was a fucking shit hole now. This city, my city, the place I called home was nothing but a husk of its former grandeur. Hourly mass shootings, blazing house fires, no running water, no power… no AC, it was as if the world was ending, or, at least New York. We apparently had the most number of these cases in the US with over half the city’s eight and a half million residents considered ‘afflicted’ and hostile, whatever that meant. I didn’t even want to know what was happening over in Miami or Atlanta. They seemed worse off than us seeing as the actual fucking army, not just the National Guard, was there to help out. But fuck all of that, this shit storm was inconveniencing me too much. My life plan of staying out of trouble and not exerting myself more than necessary was waning. Gone were those carefree days when Marcus and I would just laze around in our cruiser until lunch. Now my life and everything around was falling apart at balls-to-the-wall speed. After getting my ass kicked by some mooks and to top it off getting my house burned down and living at the office, I thought I had passed through the storm. But now I realized it was much worse. I had to admit, I was in a bit of denial when they said New York would be under Martial Law. After the hurricane, everything took a baseball bat to the face here. When I saw the National Guard arriving in trucks to set up relief centers and clean zones from Yankee Stadium down to Battery Park, I was still thinking it was all a really bad joke. Maybe I was still in a coma and all of this was just a bad dream. But I knew better. That was one thing my dad and I had in common. We were both too fucking stubborn.

I spat on the metal floor.

“Fuckin’ shit,” I groaned quietly, adjusting my grip on my rifle.

After the attack at Central Park, Martial law had been reduced, only in name, to a ‘State of Emergency’. It was essentially the Governor telling everyone to chill the fuck out. It didn’t work and in fact made people more pissed. Why? I didn’t know. But being an idiot, I thought it would get better. That was just a means of quelling the rage of the citizens of New York. But that was too late and now tens of thousands took to the streets in protest with others rioting. Half of Midtown and Hell’s Kitchen was burning, ironic. The Commissioner had already said ‘fuck it’ and pulled every officer in Midtown out to reinforce Central Park or to defend the bridge checkpoints separating Long Island and Lower Manhattan. Midtown was fucked. Some more National Guard from Albany arrived here in Manhattan the other day to help stabilize the situation and alleviate their exhausted Long Island counterparts. More brigade combat teams were arriving tomorrow from Syracuse and Utica. Until then, we’d have to contain the riots ourselves. Okay, we could do that. We did it before, we can do it again. It was just rioters and protesters so it wasn’t too bad of a problem. But seeing them on the news, they were way worse than I thought. The LA Riots and the blackout in o’three were nothing compared to what was happening right now. So far, we had around a little over half of New York’s ten and a half thousand Army National Guardsmen yucking it up here or over on Long Island. I believed it to be true that this would eventually end. But I was wrong. Everything was on a knife’s edge.

After the assault on Central Park had been repelled on Friday, everything had gone to complete shit over the weekend. Sixteen civilians were killed in the initial blast, all of them children. I guess that was the final straw that broke the camel’s back here in the park. They were royally pissed that we couldn’t even ensure the safety of their kids. Now the camp was slowly emptying as people were being ‘sent’ home. Most of Central Park had been cleared with only a few hundred people left as of last night. It was a relief seeing the thousands of angry people pour out of the park to salvage what was left of their homes. But that meant that we’d have tens of thousands in the streets wandering about. What a fucking mess. Ten of my fellow officers were killed in the attack along with a soldier. It sounds like a huge number but by now it was just a numbing sting. We had lost an officer every day for the past four months. We’re one big family and to see that every day was a taxing exercise. I was tired; we all were tired. But I didn’t think it was even possible, finding myself in agreement with Marcus on this. But he was right. The Redeemers were a lot more to them then I thought. They could, at least for the moment, hold their own against the National Guard. It’s no wonder they could have held out for so long on Long Island.

A sudden bang tore me from my musing. The sounds of screaming, shouting and banging beyond the armored door of this APC were deafening. My helmet was barely muffling the clang and banging of their hands and fists against the armor. I was sitting with Marcus to my right closest to the armored hydraulic door in the back of the armored carrier. Thomas was to my left and Lockhart was next to him with Taylor and Carlson and some more NG further down the long bench. Gonzales, Rogers, Damon, Wong, and a few more National Guardsmen sat across from me. Some were whispering to each other. The majority remained silent, however. The mix of tactical black and urban digital camo was strange to see. The radio blared on as we waited for Patterson and the National Guard officer.

_“Rainbow-One, this is Charlie-One Actual. We are oscar mike, over.”_

_“Charlie-One Actual, Rainbow-One copies. Proceed to map grid Whiskey-Four-Zero-Eight-India-Broadway. Break. RUF, assist Blues in riot containment, support only. Weapons cold, do not engage, how copy? Over.”_

_“Charlie copies all—”_

_“Williamsburg Bridge Checkpoint, this is NYPD Air Blue Nine-Four, flight of one AW119 Koalado Helo, orbiting one mile east of your position, currently above Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, do you copy? Over.”_

_“Williamsburg copies, over.”_

_“Williamsburg, I am getting a large number of what appears to be civilians marching on your position from the Expressway, how copy?”_

_“Williamsburg copies all, we got visuals of a hundred plus plain clothed civilians on the bridge.”_

_“Be advised, Williamsburg, Redeemers are possibly with the civilian concentration, over.”_

_“Solid copy, Nine-Four, Williamsburg maintaining zero-release orders, over.”_

_“CPCZ Command, this is Houston One-Two Actual, our position at Sara D. Roosevelt Park has been compromised, rioters and Redeemers have pushed us back with small arms to Broadway and Lafayette Street Station, how copy? Over.”_

_“Solid copy One-Two this is CPCZ Command, Two-One is oscar mike two hundred meters south down Lafayette. Standby.”_

_“Houston One-Two, this is Two-One, pushing north on Lafayette, watch us coming from your three o’clock, over—”_

“Sounds like hell out there,” I commented. “What the hell’s with all these code names? Sound’s like we're playing some kinda shooter.”

“That’s the army for you, I can barely understand it myself. But it doesn’t sound good.”

“It sounds like we’re gonna be busy as fuck,” I said, singsongy. “Midtown’s seen better days.”

“With all the rioting this weekend, I’m not surprised,” Marcus sighed, checking his rifle. “First, the Redeemers hit Central Park and now everyone’s pissed off at us again.”

But to have it go this far. I don’t get it,” I said, scratching my chin. “Protests are one thin’ but now riots? What gives? We’re not the ones killin’ their kids, the Redeemers did that. I mean, jeez, they’ve burned down half of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“I’m guessing people are fed up of having to see their friends and family being shipped to Long Island,” Marcus guessed. “I know I would. Would you be happy if they sent me in handcuffs?”

“Depends,” I said, facetiously. “How much am I paid to keep quiet?”

We laughed. The NG sitting across from us didn’t seem to appreciate our joke at their expense.

“Anyway, I just hope this ends quickly,” I sighed.

“One can hope.”

The knock on the other side of the armored hydraulic door shook me from my thoughts. The door hissed then lowered. The bright lights of midday flooded in and I had to shield my eyes. I looked out. Smoke billowed up and was obscuring the sun partially south of our current position at the police station. A large crowd had gathered outside behind the fence. I saw Patterson and a National Guard officer enter.

“Found a vest that fits, eh?” I laughed.

“Quiet down, Morgan,” he sighed, scratching his mustache. “The Captain is going to debrief us.”

He nodded at the NG officer who returned the gesture. He turned to the other soldiers.

“Alright, listen up. We’re going to link up with Charlie-One and proceed due south to assist local law enforcement in containing this riot south of Time Square, is that clear?”

“Oorah!” The men shouted.

“We’re only on a support role here. RUF is restricted to limited return fire. The Blues will handle the heavy lifting, got it?”

He then turned to us.

“We got it,” Patterson said, pulling out his microphone. “Thanks for letting us tag along in here.”

“No problem,” the officer smiled.

“CPP Command, this is Lieutenant Patterson, we are on the move and are heading to West Forty-eighth Street and Broadway.”

“Copy that. All units be advised, we have reports of Redeemers mixing into the protest crowds heading north, check your fire, over.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“Good luck out there. Out.”

So I was finally going to see those fuckers again, eh? Well, they better be prepared because I ain’t letting them shoot me again. I already had enough shit on my plate since the last time.

The army officer walked towards the front of the passenger area and knocked on the small hatch leading to the driver compartment.

“Driver, we’re good to go. Move out.”

“Aye sir,” the driver said. “Rainbow-One this is Charlie-Two, we’re on the move and following Charlie-One, how copy?”

“Rainbow-One copies all, stay alert for SALW. We got reports of sporadic small arms fire down by the Rockefeller Center. Good luck. Out.”

The APC began to lurch forward as the sound of the engine moaned. The officer sat down and strapped in. I pulled out the magazine of my carbine and checked it, blowing on it to rid it of any dust. After placing it back in, I let it rest at my feet. This was going to be a long drive.

“Hey, Morgan.”

I turned to my left.

“What’s it, Thomas?”

“How you feeling?” he asked, pointing to my black eye. “I heard what happened on Friday.”

“Eh, this ol’ shiner? It’s nothin’. dont’cha worry ‘bout a thin’,” I smiled. “I’d rather be in the office gettin’ my snack on but whatever. How ‘bout ya?”

Thomas was giving me a side-glance.

“Well, besides the obvious, I’m okay,” he smiled. “I got a call from my parents this morning before work.”

“How they doin’?” I asked.

“They managed to board the Amtrak and are heading to Chicago right now.”

“Is that really a good idea?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Chicago’s been gettin’ a lot of protests lately.”

“They should be fine. They’re staying with my sister in Evanston so it’ll be a lot safer than staying in Albany with the militias causing trouble over there.”

He turned to speak to Lockhart.

I nodded, turning back to my lap. I looked at my gloved hand then at the reflection on my visor. My red eye looked back at me.

“When will this go away?” I asked myself, clicking my tongue.

“What will?” Marcus asked.

“My red eye. It’s gettin’ annoyin’,” I grumbled.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s just annoyin’ looking at it. I feel like some dumb freak.”

“Like some weird cosplayer, eh?”

“Shaddup, I just hope Ian figured out a way to get rid of it,” I pouted. “He better not get himself in trouble with all of this goin’ on.”

“So, you’re worried for Ian?”

“No, not really. He looks like the kinda fella that’d knock a few teeth out. It's me I'm worried ‘bout.”

“Ever the selfless woman,” he chuckled.

“Hell nah, I ain’t riskin’ my ass if I don’t have to. Ya saw what happened when I played hero,” I scoffed, motioning an explosion with my hands. “And boom goes the dynamite!”

Marcus frowned.

I noticed his discomfort and stopped.

“Sorry,” I said, quickly. “But I learned my lesson from that incident.”

“Really?”

“Hell yeah,” I nodded. “Don’t stick ya neck out if ya don’t need to. After gettin’ my ass kicked, I've realized I'm not as strong as I thought I was.”

“Didn’t you say you were trained by an expert before?”

“Yeah, my old neighbor and guardian, Mister Reynolds was ex-military. He taught me all these crazy moves but I guess I must’ve forgotten them.”

I lowered my gaze and frowned.

“I hope he’s okay,” I said, lowering my voice to just above a whisper. “Last time I heard, he was here in New York.”

“When was that?”

“When I was a sophomore in high school.”

“Morgan that was like ten years ago,” Marcus pointed out.

“Yeah, so. He could still be here. But with all this. I kinda hope he isn’t. He was my first friend, ya’know? To think he’d be caught up in this is… scary.”

I felt Marcus place a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sure he’s fine. He’s ex-military, after all. He’s probably thinking the same if he knew you were here.”

“Heh, yeah. It’d be nice to see him,” I said, my cheeks flushing. “It’d make this whole mess a bit easier to deal with seeing him again.”

“Well, why don’t you ask him to marry you?” He joked. “You seem head over heels for him.”

“Ya wanna run that by me again?” I half-threatened, making a fist.

“No thanks,” Marcus laughed, waving me off. “I need all my ribs today.”

“He was more like an adult older brother to me, than anything,” I confessed. “I could tell him anything, even things I couldn’t tell my parents about.”

“He’s fine, I’m sure of it,” Marcus comforted. “Well, like you said, It’s you I’m worried about with you being all weak and everything.”

I smacked him in the shoulder again.

“Ya big oaf,” I laughed.

“Now there’s no need teasing the lady,” a voice remarked.

“We both turned to the voice. It was the NG next to Rogers, a rather young, twenty-something man with short brown hair under his field cap and bright blue eyes. I took in his face for a moment, maybe a little too long. He looked more akin to one of them country farm-boys I remember growing up with than a soldier… a rather handsome one at that with his strong jaw and his short stubble. But I digress. I narrowed my eyes.

“What’cha name, farm boy?” I asked, playfully.

The man chuckled. His voice was deep and masculine like a fine cologne like Ian's but from the accent, I knew he was from around upstate.

“The name’s Staff Sergeant Andrew Carmichael. Nice to meet you, Officer Morgan.”

“How d’ya know my name?” I asked.

“It’s on your badge,” he chuckled.

I looked down. My face heated up from the obviousness. I was making a fool of myself.

“Hah, well what’cha know,” I laughed, knocking on my helmet. “I guess ya right.”

“Well, Morgan, it’s a pleasure,” he said in a husky voice, extending his hand. “Glad to finally meet the woman that saved those hostages at the Plaza.”

“The pleasure’s all mine farm boy,” I said, shaking his hand and raising an eyebrow.

He seemed like the awfully talkative sort of fella. It was not off putting; I was a loudmouth myself. The men beside him were tittering and whispering into his ear and looking back at me. I was right, they were making fun of me. I crossed my arms and leaned back, giving him a sharp look. He retaliated by raising his chin slightly and giving me a rather smug grin.

“It’s too bad about our RUF,” he sighed. “Right fellas?”

“Seems rather constrictive,” another soldier added. “Seeing as we’re getting small arms fire down south by Grand Central and the Rockefeller center, you’d think they’d loosen it up a bit.”

“I know what’cha mean,” I said, not sure what they were talking about. “These vests sure are tight ‘round the chest, eh? Ya think they’d actually stop bullets?”

I yanked at my collar and at the openings for my arms.

The men chuckled, shaking their heads. Andrew snickered before clearing his throat.

“Not used to the gear?” He asked. “I don’t blame you. It must be heavy for you.”

“It’s alright, I guess, but I’d rather not have to lug all this gear around. I don’t like exertin’ myself more than necessary. My fellas know all ‘bout that, right?”

The guys chuckled.

“She’s a weirdo,” Wong said. “If you ever get to see our fitness training, you’ll understand.”

“Oh god, you mean about Big Donnie,” Taylor snickered, face palming.

The soldiers turned to me, curious.

“Go on, tell the story,” Thomas encouraged, laughing.

“Can we not?” I laughed nervously. “It ain’t that big of a story, really.”

“Now I’m curious, go ahead,” Andrew said.

“Ah shit,” I moaned, leaning back to let them tell the story.

“Last year, we decided to see how fit we were, seeing as there’s no annual police physical test. So, we took a city firefighter test instead. While we were doing that, we wanted to see who could bench the most,” Carlson explained. “Big Donnie won by a landslide, three-fifty for ten reps. Yeah, it was ten, right?”

“Nah, I think it was fifteen,” Gonzales corrected.

“Anyway, he kicked all of our asses. Morgan over here was like ‘oh that’s so blasé.’ So to check that ego of hers, we bet five hundred dollars that she couldn’t squat lift Big Donnie once. Just once.”

“And she did?”

I gave a smug grin.

“Yup, she kicked our asses on that. Now Big Donnie isn’t just all name,” Roger remarked.

“It wasn’t much,” I boasted, arrogantly.

“He’s what, two-fifty?”

“Probably more. He’s a hulking motherfucker,” Gonzales said. “Of course, Morgan was red as a tomato but she lifted him straight in the air like Rafiki.”

Suddenly, the whole squad was singing.

“I think ya’ll picked the wrong profession,” I joked. “Next thing ya gonna name Marcus here, Mufasa.”

“Ooh, I should report that for workplace racism,” Marcus snickered.

“Oh please, we all know you’s the closest of any of us to the motherland,” I teased.

“Hey, you got a nice singing voice, Morgan. I remember the New Year’s Party. Give us a song,” Thomas teased.

“I don’t think so,” I replied, waving him off.

“C’mon, just one song, one verse.”

Everyone was looking at me right now.

“Ah fuck, fine. Just one.”

I cleared my throat and sang. Nearing the end of the first stanza, the others joined in.

“Okay!” Taylor shouted.

“You win,” Damon smirked.

“Oh gods,” Wong moaned.

“Oy vay!” I deflated.

Finishing the rest of the song, we all laughed. It was fun and for a moment when I was singing, everything bad around was gone. The soldiers clapped in applause.

“That was good, real good. A living breathing chorus in blue,” Andrew remarked.

“Alright now, settle down,” the NG officer ordered.

“Anyway, like Wong mentioned, she’s a weird one,” Marcus remarked, pointing to me. “She can lift the heaviest of us with ease but don’t ask her to carry a bucket around because it’ll tire her.”

“Hey, liftin’ Big Donnie for a rep ain’t nothing to carrying buckets of concrete for hours.”

“Still from what I heard just now, that’s impressive,” Andrew said, flashing a sarcastic grin. “For a girl.”

I laughed, hearing the sarcasm in his voice.

“I’m better off wearin’ my regular uniform which is a better fit. But no, ol’ Pattie over here insists we wear all this gear.”

“You say that now but just wait until you get shot,” Patterson responded.

“Eh, I’ve already been shot at before, Pattie. Remember the Plaza Hotel?” I reminded him, flashing a wide toothy grin and pounding my chest. “I’m the bullet-sponge McGee.”

“We’re here,” the driver interjected.

We all turned to the speakers on the walls.

“Copy that, open the doors,” the NG officer ordered.

The door hissed and slowly opened, flooding the dark with light and noise. The air was filled with the deafening droning and shouting of protesters and police as well as the nauseating smell of burning rubber. It was a wave of chanting bombarding my ears. I squinted as I got used to the light. Stepping out, I saw a rather disconcerting sight. The looming towers and skyscrapers of Times Square greeted me. The big advertising screens once famous around the world were shut off and black. Broken glass and burning tires were everywhere. The air itself was gray from the smoke. About a hundred feet from us was the police line. Crowd barriers were set and a truck was stationed with a water hose ready to fire. About a hundred officers were keeping the protesters back with an additional two hundred or more officers lined up in two more rows for support. Beyond them, the pillars of smoke from the Midtown fires billowed upward, blocking out the sun locally. It looked as if it was downcast from all the smoke.

“Morgan, c’mon!” Marcus said, walking passed me.

“Hands up! Don’t shoot!”

Down with tyrants!” The crowd chanted.

“Roast the pigs, roast the pigs!”

“Pigs? Are they havin’ a barbecue?” I joked, nudging Marcus in the side.

“Always with a joke even at the worst times,” he shook his head, chuckling to himself. “I swear you’ll joke even at my funeral.”

“Hell yeah, can’t send ya off cryin’ and snortin’ and all. But that ain’t happenin’. I’ll keep the baddies off ya.”

“Isn’t that my job?”

I laughed.

Patterson walked ahead of us.

“I’m going to the command bus over there,” Patterson said, pointing to a police bus to our right. “Meet Sergeant Michaels by that SWAT truck over there for your positions!”

“Right!” We shouted.

Everyone else followed behind us as Marcus led the way. I looked over my shoulder. The soldiers were disembarking and setting up positions around the armored carrier. The one we were following was parked on the other side of the street by some concrete barriers. In the distance down towards the park, several SWAT trucks were approaching. I turned back to my front as we approached the police sergeant barking orders to his men beside a table.

“Sergeant Michaels?” Gonzales asked.

The man turned back.

“Ah, you must be our backup. Sorry, but we’ll have to make this short.”

“What’s the situation?” Lockhart asked.

“We got a few thousand people coming up Broadway. Our orders are to hold them here. I need you guys to help the second line in case we get any breaches.”

“Sounds good,” Roger said.

“Just tell us where to go,” Wong added.

“Alright, I need six over on the other side of the street,” the Sergeant commanded. “And two on this side.”

Everyone was looking at me and Marcus.

“Fuck, okay, I guess we got this side,” I moaned, slouching like a sloth.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Marcus motioned.

Grabbing a shield from the table beside the Sergeant, we headed off while everyone else crossed the street. Arriving at the second line, we got into our positions beside the other officers.

“Ya think, we’ll get some drinks?” I joked, nudging Marcus on the elbow.

“Just hold the line,” Marcus sighed.

“Right,” I nodded, taking a breath and raising my riot shield.

“Our lives matter! Our lives matter!” The crowd shouted, waving makeshift signs.

There was smoke coming from the crowd. Hopping repeatedly, I saw what the cause was. They were torching an American flag. Talk about melodramatic. I was more pissed off about the sound; It was deafening.

“Pigs in blue, pigs in blue!”

Eh, what else is new? They’ve been chanting that for the longest time. A few streams of smoked were thrown in the air. It looked like tear gas was being thrown back at us.

“This is what power looks like!”

“Get the fuck out of here!”

“Death to tyrants!”

“Kill the police!”

Well, that wasn’t good to hear seeing as I was a cop. It was a good thing I was back here and not up front.

Suddenly, out of the crowd, a flaming bottle smashed into several officers in the line in front of us. The men were set ablaze, screaming and rolling on the ground. The crowd cheered. My eyes widened. Holy shit! As that happened, dozens of protesters began swarming to the opening.

“Shields on me!” A voice shouted.

Suddenly, I felt myself being pushed by the officers behind me. I guess it was our time to be in the front. Slinging my rifle over my shoulder and locking it to my gear, I ran forward. Marcus got there before me. Dragging one of the burning officers back to allow the fire hoses to extinguish him, I slammed myself against one of the protesters, sending her to the ground. The screaming bitch clocked me in the face before yanking out a knife from her pocket. I clubbed her in the head and yanked her back to the awaiting arresting officers.

“Fucking bitch!” I heard a man shout.

He came charging at me. I whipped out my collapsible baton from my belt. I raised it and struck him down as he tried to grab my shield, dragging him back like I had with the woman.

“Reform!” A voice shouted.

We then began to realign along the street as the water cannons struck down protesters and forced them a few dozen feet back. I spat blood onto the asphalt.

“First rank, advance!” A voice shouted.

We locked our shields together in a shield wall. We slowly advanced forward, raising our shields to deflect the bottles and rocks being thrown at us.

“So much for a quiet day,” I groaned.

“Too much for you?” Marcus smirked, deflecting a large piece of asphalt.

“Too much,” I replied.

I looked up at the clock on the building ahead of is. It was Eleven-fifty-five. The sun was right above us and cast the fattest shadows. Turning back, I trotted until I was next to Marcus and the other officers in the first line. The protesters were throwing everything they had at us, rocks, shoes, bottles, anything on the ground they could throw. Eventually, we stopped our advance. We were standing in the middle of Time Square between Forty-seventh and Forty-sixth Street. My radio was going haywire with people shouting on the radio.

_“Four, this is Four-two, do you copy, over!” A voice shouted frantically. “I say again, Four, this is Four-two, do you copy, over!”_

_“Four copies, give me a sitrep, Four-two. Over,” a calmer voice replied._

_“We got a column of hostile Romeo foot mobiles coming up the north ramp of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway at coordinates Bravo-Quebec-Two-Seven-Eight-Four-Nine-Five. Break. We got another forty-ought Romeos assaulting our position east-facing from the Expressway. Break. Danger close. Small arms and an LMG. Our position’s being overrun!”_

_“Say again, Four-two? You’re saying you have foot mobiles on your position? Romeos?”_

_“They’re breaking through! Dammit, Henderson, get a SAW on that sector, cut them down! Malik, Austin, get the right flank, now!”_

Static returned. The fuck? What the hell was happening over there?

“Morgan, look out!”

I looked up, a flaming bottle smashed into my shield, setting it ablaze. I screamed, flailing and falling backwards onto the asphalt. Releasing my grip, I tossed it aside.

“Fuck!” I cursed, panting heavily.

Suddenly, a man jumped on me, knocking all air from my lungs. He was sitting on top of me, his dirty clothes reeking of filth. He wrapped his gloved hands around my neck as I flailed on the ground, attempting to strike him with my baton. His face was so hateful. I saw Marcus coming up from behind. With a crack, Marcus smashed the man’s face with his baton, sending him back. I gasped for breath, clutching my throat. Getting up with help from Marcus, I turned to the man. Another officer dragged his sorry ass away. I looked forward. The large clock on the building before us struck noon. I headed to plug the hole I left behind in the line. But as I walked to the line, I noticed something. The crowd was retreating. Then I saw it. A white pickup was speeding towards the center of our line, ten officers down from me. People tried to get out of the way but it was too fast. My eyes widened. I knew what it was.

“It’s a bomb! Get awa—”

Everything was lit up in orange light and fire. A massive blast tore through our line in the center, launching people in all directions. It was enormous. The shock wave was visible in the air like a white ring of smoke. It sent me flying back. Everything slowed down as the memories of the flames at the Plaza hotel flashed in my mind as I spun in the air like a top. I only stopped when my back slammed into a street light pole. I heard a crack. I landed on my ass with a thump, a pulsing sting erupting from my back. My body tensed up then grew limp. I was too close to the blast, my ears were ringing and my mind was spinning. My eyes were blurred; if it wasn’t for my helmet, I’d have probably been knocked out. I looked up from my lap and onto the street. My eyes were still in a daze but I could clearly see the signs of destruction. Blood and body parts were everywhere and flaming bits, too. Bodies lay still on the ground. The car’s charred remains were right in front of me in the middle of the street. People were laying on the floor and the sounds of muffled screaming echoed in my now quieting ears. From the flames, I saw a man book it towards me, a knife in hand. I tried to raise my hand in a futile attempt to stop him from stabbing me but my hand fell back down. I was too weak. Suddenly, I heard a loud bang and a flash. A plume of blood shot out of his head. The man jerked backwards and fell to the ground, dead. I gasped as a hand shook my shoulder wildly.

“Morgan! Morgan, are you okay?”

I turned to the muffled voice. It was Marcus. His rifle was in his hand and my carbine was slung over his shoulder.

“Marcus?” I wheezed, feeling something wet come out of my nose.

I gripped his shoulder tightly.

“Ya saved me.”

“Yeah, yeah, write a book about it,” he quickly dismissed, slinging his rifle. “Shit, your nose is bleeding.”

He wiped my nose with his sleeve.

Then all of a sudden, I heard the distinct popping sounds around us. My eyes grew wide. At that moment, I felt a surge of energy return to me. It was my body telling to skedaddle the fuck out of there.

“Fuck, they’re shooting at us,” Marcus cursed. “Fucking Redeemers finally showed up!”

The rest of our squad was across the street, running back from the fire.

“Shit! Marcus, get Morgan and pull back to the trucks!” I heard Gonzales shout from across the street. “I’ll cover you!”

My head was throbbing. What the hell was going on? I looked over Marcus’s shoulder. The crowd was chaotic. The mob of people wasn’t retreating but what was replacing them at the front was much worse. Dozens of dudes with guns were rushing towards us, shouting and shooting wildly. I heard the crowd cheering them on. I felt my eye beginning to sting and a prickly sensation on my forehead. Oh no, it was happening again. I had to get out of here—gah! A sudden pain shot up my leg. I had twisted my ankle. If I didn’t get an ice pack on this quick, I’d be out of it. I pushed Marcus away as I painfully got up.

“Go! I’m startin’ to feel it, Marcus,” I shouted, my voice cracking. “I’ll follow ya!”

He nodded and began walking backwards, firing behind me to cover me as I limped back to where we were before.

Pulling out my pistol, I aimed and fired at the gunmen, pinning one down as I did. I had to be very fucking careful. There were a bunch of idiots just standing there right in my line of fire recording this. I didn’t want to kill a bystander right now. This week was already shitty enough. Marcus was not far from me and doing the same, suppressing the gunmen as he ran. The noise was deafening. It sounded like a box of M-Eighties were going off. If we can just keep them pinned down, we can get out of here. I turned to fire at another shooter. But as I swung my body to face him, I felt something smash into me, sending me to the ground, breathless. I slammed my head into the curb. The helmet didn’t help dampen the impact much. I was seeing stars and my head was spinning again. Fuck, I couldn’t breathe. On my back, I looked at my chest where I was hit. The fabric was torn and smoke was hissing out. Oh shit, I—I was shot.

“Morgan!” Marcus screamed. “I need covering fire!”

To my surprise, I felt Marcus place his hands beneath the crook of my knee and around my left arm. He lifted me in a princess-carry and began trudging away from the flames back to where we arrived. I felt my head throbbing but my vision began to clear. I looked up at Marcus. He was sweating and had a cut on his chin. I touched his cheek.

“Marcus, you’s bleedin’.”

“Hang on, Morgan, we’re almost there!”

I turned to where we were running. The rest of our squad was piling into a SWAT truck. The other police were doing the same. There was no cover from the hail of gunfire behind us. If we didn’t get out of here, we’d be dead. Suddenly, I heard a loud fluttering noise. The wind was shifting. I looked up. A news chopper was hovering above near the top of the skyscrapers. The helicopter blades were mesmerizing; everything seemed to slow down.

“RPG!” A voice screamed.

I jerked from my view of the helicopter. My blood froze. No way, no fucking way. I looked over Marcus’s shoulder. A man was hiding behind a car on the sidewalk was holding a fucking rocket launcher.

“Take him down!” a soldier shouted.

It was too late, the man fired the rocket into the air. A plume of smoke blasted out the back of the launcher, shattering the shop display glass behind him. I followed the arrow-shaped rocket as it flew straight up into the air towards the helicopter. I saw the passengers on the helicopter panic right before they were engulfed in the fiery explosion. An ear piercing screech tore through the air. The shockwave sent Marcus staggering back and we both fell.

“Ah, fuck!” I screamed, feeling my ankle land on the hard ground.

It was then that I felt it. It was like a throaty grumble. I felt a rumble beneath my feet. It was a deep tremor like what I expected an earthquake felt like. But it didn’t shake anything despite its obvious strength. The broken glass around me didn’t bounce or shake at all. It was as if I was imagining it and for all I knew, I was. But I could feel it like a breath beneath the ground, deep down like a rising chest. It was like drums, a steady reverberation that strangely soothed the pain in my ankle and back. Then the shaking beneath me stopped and I got up.

“Get out of the way!”

I looked up again. The helicopter was spinning wildly as its blades smashed into the Time Square Tower, kicking up glass and debris. It was raining fucking fire. I ran but felt my ankle give way. Marcus grabbed me and resumed carrying me in his arms to the awaiting SWAT truck. The helicopter smashed into the side of the building before tumbling down and landing where our line was before the car bomb. The flames were shooting out into the air and smoke was billowing up. It was horrible but the helicopter was blocking the street so the Redeemers couldn’t shoot at us. I turned back as we passed the reformed police line along Forty-eighth. The soldiers we were riding with earlier were covering us from behind concrete jersey barriers.

“Get in!” Patterson shouted, waving for us. “We’re heading back to Central Park.”

He pulled out his radio.

“CPP Command, this is Lieutenant Patterson. Our position at Forty-eighth and Broadway has been compromised. Mass casualties, a news chopper is down. Too hot for wounded extraction.”

“What happened?”

“Redeemers blew a car bomb right in our line and we’re engaged in small arms fire. They got at least one RPG. Rioters are taking up arms and pushing us north!”

“Copy that, do what you can and pull back to Sheep Meadow, a forward command post has been set up.”

“Copy, out!”

Marcus placed me on the bed of the truck and climbed in. Soldiers and officers just outside the truck were covering each other as they embarked on the APCs and trucks. Looks like we were all getting out of here.

“Driver! Go!”

The truck began to lurch forward before beginning to speed off. I looked ahead, sitting up with my feet dangling from the open back of the truck, barely able to breathe. I grabbed the railing to steady myself. The clock above us all was at Twelve-twenty. Suddenly, movement caught my eye. Something was moving in the crash site. I squinted my eyes as we drove away. In the burning flames, I saw figures walking towards us, lumbering about. And in the center, a tall and lanky figure raised its arms as if to grab onto me. I didn’t know why but the strange figure was familiar like it was calling for me. I unconsciously raised my hand as well towards the figure. Suddenly, I felt Marcus grab me by the arms and yank me completely into the truck. The truck doors close as the figure vanished in the flames.

“What the hell?” I coughed as I tried to catch my breath.

Suddenly, I felt Marcus grab my arms.

“Damon, help me get this off her.”

“Hey, watch it,” I coughed. “You’s gotta take me out to dinner first, buddy.”

“This ain’t time for jokes!” Marcus snapped.

They pulled my vest over my head, dropping it on the floor.

“Thank fucking Christ, it didn’t go through,” Damon cheered, wiping a tear from his cheeks.

I looked down at my chest, feeling my skin. I felt a bruise coming on right beneath my ribs but it was a lot better than seeing blood. I shivered. Marcus lifted me so I could sit down.

“Ah, shit, it really didn’t,” I gasped, exhilarated. “These vests really do come in handy.”

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” I replied, gasping for air.

“What the hell’s happening?” Wong asked Patterson. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“I don’t know, hold on a second,” Patterson said, pulling his radio out. “CPP Command, do you copy?”

There was nothing but static.

“What the hell?”

“Let me check,” the driver said, turning on the radio.

“Calling—units—alized—”

“Shit, clear up dammit!” he cursed.

The static began to clear up. The voices on the radio were going haywire. Everyone was shouting at once so it was hard to understand. But then, the signal cleared up. None of us in the truck spoke as we drank in what we were hearing. There was no good news. It was a complete mess.

* * *

 

_“Calling all units, calling all available units! This is a city-wide alert, Redeemer forces have engaged riot units at Broadway and Lafayette Station. They are pushing north towards Central Park with small arms along all North-South Avenues and FDR Drive. They’re mixing with protesters. All units form a defensive line along Fifty-ninth Street. We can’t let them get to the clean zones!”_

_“We got guys with long rifles pushing up Fifth Avenue! We can’t hold them!”_

_“Shit! Ten-thirteen, ten-thirteen! I need backup on Forty-sixth and Madison. My partner and I are engaged in small arms fire with gunmen coming up northbound from Grand Central Station! There’s at least fifty of them!”_

_“Central Command, this is Williamsburg Bridge, we got hundreds of civilians trying to get through our line from Long Island, we need backup, over.”_

_“Negative on that Williamsburg, all units are engaged at the moment. Seal the quarantine gate. Standby.”_

_“Central Command, this is Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge, we’re getting small arms and sniper fire coming at us from Queensbridge Park and heavy civilians concentration coming at us along NY Two-Five. Requesting assistance, over.”_

_“Blue HQ, this is Brooklyn Bridge, we’re getting small arms fire and heavy civilian count from Long Island moving in on our position. Break. RUF, over?”_

_“Order still stands, Brooklyn. No one leaves Long Island.”_

_“JFK, this is Sally, Give me a sitrep?”_

_“We got sporadic small arms fire from enemy Romeo foot mobiles coming southbound from the Van-Wyck, two hundred meters from the outer perimeter. Break. Heavy civilian inundation, requesting additional units from Marine Park, over!”_

_“Negative on that JFK, Marine Park units are currently engaged with hostile Romeos pushing eastbound on Belt Parkway. Break. Sally-One, location, over.”_

_“Sally, this is Sally-One Actual, we’re pushing west along Grand Central Parkway, two hundred meters from the Van-Wyck interchange, we’re oscar mike, how copy? Over.”_

_“Sally copies all. Move to intercept hostile Romeos and link with JFK by the FedEx Ship Center.”_

_“Copy that, Sally-One out!”_

_“Three-two, this is Four-one Actual! We got Redeemers assaulting the UN Headquarters! We got numerous executives needing casevac. Break. They’ve seized an APC and are laying suppressive fire on us! How copy? Over.”_

_“Say again, Four-one? You’re saying—”_

_“They took over a fucking tank and are assaulting our position at coordinates Uniform-November-One-Four-Two! Break. HE rounds are hammering the building and Romeo foot mobiles have pushed us deep into the general assembly room. We need a Javelin right here, now! Danger close.”_

_“Breaking News, we are getting reports over the last hour of militias engaging government forces in cities all along the East Coast. So far, we can confirm that Miami, Atlanta, Baltimore, Boston, Philadelphia, Tampa, Albany, Charleston, and Pittsburgh are currently the sites of fierce fighting between Anti-government militias and the National Guard. Excuse me… this is just in. Our producer has just confirmed from incoming reports from our local affiliates that Redeemer forces are engaging National Guard and police in New York and Memphis.”_

_“I say again, the President of the United States with congressional approval has ordered that all National Guardsmen and law enforcement personnel East of the Mississippi to be federalized.”_

_“Executive authority of the New York City Crisis Zone has been transferred to Major General Barbara Sugermeyer.”_

_“This is just in from Central Command DC. Baltimore, Boston and Atlanta have been declared hostile zones, repeat, Baltimore, Boston and Atlanta are no-fly hostile zones. We have unconfirmed reports of light weapons, possibly with anti-air capabilities present within the city limits. Local populace is hostile. I say again—”_

_“This is Major General Sugermeyer, of the New York City Crisis Zone. This is a city-wide order for all newly federalized units of the NYPD, National Guard and other emergency services. All police units north of Midtown are to pull back north of Fifty-ninth Street and secure defensive lines and assist friendly civilians. Break. Those south are to link up with affiliated National Guard units and secure defensive lines around the bridges, Battery Park clean zone and other key government sites. Break. Hold back Redeemer forces until further military assets arrive. Break. All National Guard in Manhattan are charged with securing LZ points for friendly civilian evacuation at Central Park and all accessible flat-topped buildings north of Fifty-ninth Street and key government sites south of Midtown. Break. New York units of the 42nd Infantry and 10th Mountain Divisions are due inbound within the next six hours and will assist in civilian evacuation and hostile containment on Long Island. Break. Martial Law is reinstated. RUF has been changed. I say again, Rules for the Use of Force is as follows, use any and all means necessary to evacuate civilians from the crisis zone. Lethal force is authorized. Break. The USS Abraham Lincoln carrier battle group of the US Atlantic Fleet is anchored off the coast of Middletown, New Jersey and is sending aircraft to assist in civilian evacuation. Break. Engage all armed opposition, whether Redeemers or otherwise that push north-south from Midtown and restricted grid points from Long Island. Civilian evacuation is executive priority. Sugermeyer out.”_

* * *

 

Holy shit, this was getting too real. I grabbed my vest and put it back on and grabbed my rifle from Marcus.

“Jesus Christ, the Redeemers have finally done it, huh?” Gonzales remarked.

“It’s a full-scale revolt,” Taylor gasped.

“They’re fighting everywhere. Where’d they get all these weapons?” Damon asked.

“What do you expect? Lockhart chided. “Ever since we got the order, we’d only been patrolling government buildings and the blocks around the clean zones. That’s barely a third of Manhattan. These fuckers could do whatever they want or make whatever they wanted in that time.”

“They must have been stockpiling them for months,” Wong added. “Not to mention smuggling.”

“Did you hear that one guy? They got a fucking tank,” Damon bleated.

I groaned and held my head in my hands. What the fuck was happening?

The truck lurched to a stop.

“We’re here! Good luck to you all,” the driver said.

“Same to you,” Marcus nodded, opening the doors.

We were in the middle of Sheep Meadow. The scene was chaotic. Soldiers and officers were running around, working on whatever it was they were doing. It reminded me of one of those army forward operating post I saw on the news during the last war. In the distance, I saw soldiers gathering civilians into groups and leading them north up West Drive, probably to the Great Lawn for evacuation. They looked scared to all hell. I didn’t blame them. New York was a fucking battlefield now. It was then that it hit me. New York was a fucking war zone and I was caught in the middle. I fell to my knees in shock. Were we in a freaking civil war now? Fuck these psycho cases, I didn’t want to get ‘volunteered’ into the army. What the fuck do I do?

“Morgan, get up, Patterson’s taking us somewhere.”

I looked up. Marcus held out his hand. Taking it, he lifted me up from the ground. I was leaning on his shoulder so I didn’t put too much weight on my ankle.

“Ya think they’ll let me off the hook this time?” I asked, pointing to my ankle.

“You’re not the luckiest mook so I doubt it. They’ll probably give you a chair to sit if you're lucky.”

The sound of helicopter blades fluttering in the distance tore my thoughts from me. I looked up. Five black helicopters landed in a row just a few yards from us, kicking up dust and debris from the grass. A whole mob of soldiers exited and headed out.

“Looks like the cavalry's arrived,” I smirked.

We arrived at an olive-green tent just before Terrace Drive. Marcus and I were the last ones in. Patterson and the others were standing near the entrance to the tent. About fifteen National Guardsmen were standing around a table with a map of the city. There in the middle was a rather stern-looking army officer. He was probably in charge.

“How’s Morgan?” Rogers whispered.

“Sprained an ankle,” I said. “Hurts to hell walkin’. But I’ll be good in an hour or so.”

“I see,” Patterson uttered. “Well, pay attention, the Major’s going to give us orders.”

“As I was saying, I got word from command,” The Major said. “Fort Drum is in lockdown from a car bomb so our reinforcements from their garrison will be delayed. West Point is locked down too from gunmen entering the premise so we’ll have to do with what we have. Luckily, we got five combat teams from the Tenth just now.”

“Christ, they’re attacking everywhere,” An officer with a field cap remarked.

“Long Island is falling,” the Major remarked, eliciting a collective gasp. “We’ve already lost the St. Albans center and Marine Park to Redeemers in the last ten minutes and Highland Park is dealing with a massive riot. Right now, they’re trying to evacuate civilians from the JFK and LaGuardia clean zones but they’re running out of time. Because of that, most incoming assets will be transferred to Long Island to buy them time to evacuate. I already talked to Major Williams. His teams will be transferred to Long Island in the next hour to help.”

“So what are our positions, sir?” A soldier asked, pointing to himself and his men.

“We got orders to stay here in Manhattan. I need your men and those police officers over there to set up a defensive line along Columbus Circle between Broadway and Central Park South,” the Major said, pointing to the map. “A large number of Redeemers are coming up from Broadway towards Central Park. We cannot lose the Circle.”

He turned to us.

“Lieutenant Patterson, correct?”

“Aye sir,” Patterson saluted. “Central Park Precinct.”

“You’re squad will follow Captain Anderson and C-Company of the 1st Battalion-69th Infantry Regiment, callsign Rainbow-Three to the Columbus Circle,” the Major said, pointing to the officer next to Wong.

“We’ll get it done,” Patterson said.

“We’re already seeing sporadic fighting between the blues and Redeemers along Lexington and Eightieth. That means they’ve been successful in infiltrating past our line masquerading as civies. We can’t spare any men over there in the Southwest corner of the park. Your men will have to shore up and help in its defense. There’s a Humvee that will act as an evac victor if it comes down to it.”

“I see,” Patterson said, turning to us. “Okay, we’ll head there now.”

“And what about Morgan? She’s injured and can barely walk,” Carlson said pointing at me.

“Ayuh?”

“Can you do this?” Captain Anderson asked.

“Ya mean sit on my ass and cover Broadway? I guess,” I said. “I’d rather lay down and rest my foot, though.”

“I know, Morgan, but we need everyone we can,” Patterson said. “You can sit in the Humvee if you need to.”

I turned to Marcus.

He shrugged.

“Eh, I guess I’ll do it,” I moaned. “But if shit hits the fan I ain’t runnin’. Someone’s gonna have to drive me.”

“There’s always work to be done,” Marcus added.

“Alright, you have your orders, move out!” The Major shouted.

“Oorah! The men cheered, piling out of the tent.

I grumbled. ‘So much for a quiet day’. Me and my fucking big mouth. Marcus helped me out of the tent and we began the long walk towards our position at the Columbus Circle. The soldiers led the way. The rest of the squad followed behind us with a few National Guardsmen trailing further down.

“The Major wants me here so I’m going to stay here and monitor what I can. Good luck out there,” Patterson said. “Keep your radios on in case I need you.”

“Yessir!” We shouted back, continuing ahead.

I turned to Thomas next to me. He was checking his radio.

_Che—ire! Highland CZ is falling. I repeat, Highland CZ has been breached. Central Command, we need support. Where’s Lima-One!”_

_“Six-two, this is Six-three, we are getting multiple snipers firing from the NYU Stern School of Business. Break. We’re pinned down along the hedges on Washington Square Park, what’s your location? Over.”_

_“Six-three this is Six-two, solid copy of that. We’re about three hundred meters due southwest from your position on Avenue of the Americas. Pushing northeast to flanking stance, standby.”_

_“Copy that.”_

I shuddered at the words. Snipers? Great, my nerves were getting worse. It was bad enough being shot at but at least we could see who was doing it. Now we had snipers where we couldn’t see. When was one of us going to get sniped in the head? Shit.

Suddenly, a small but loud explosion about a soccer field away by Lounging Rock sent us all to the ground. I unslung my rifle and ran behind a tree.

“Mortars!?”

“The blast was weak, it must be some makeshifts.”

“The fuck?! Where’d they get those!?”

I heard a whistle in the air.

“Incoming!” A voice shouted across the way.

The whistle became louder and louder until a deafening explosion tore the grass and dirt up a few dozen meters from us.

“Shit! They got us zeroed in!”

“Hurry! Get to the Circle,” a soldier shouted, pushing Marcus and the others forward.

They began sprinting across the baseball fields towards the distant sounds of gunfire. They must have forgotten where I was. I gulped as I looked past the tree I was behind. Smoke was billowing from a crater in the ground. I turned back and exhaled. Looking up to the sky, I gritted my teeth. The sky was turning red from all the fires and smoke. It was as if I was seeing the world in hell-tinted glasses from all the shit in the air. A fleet of helicopters were flying overhead. Finding the strength in my legs, I began to limp forward towards the Circle. Marcus and the others were a good sixty feet away but I didn’t care. I trudged along, ignoring the sounds of explosions and gunfire around, focusing on just getting over to Marcus and the others. The Circle was just a few hundred feet away now. I can do this. The dull pain in my ankle kept me cringing but I ignored it as best as I could. Another explosion sent me diving for the grass. Shit, I can’t do this. Looking around, I got backup, using my rifle as a cane. I kept waddling as soldiers and police and civilians ran to and fro around me and behind to avoid the mortars that were targeting Sheep Meadow. I huffed and puffed as my legs slowly gave way but I kept going. Reaching the sidewalk, I saw Marcus running back to me.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologized, wrapping my arm around his shoulder.

“Save it for later,” I groaned, my mouth dry. “Just set me up some place where I won’t get shot at.”

He smirked, helping me walk right towards our position. There were about thirty soldiers spread out across all of the Circle. Our squad was set up facing Broadway while the rest of the soldiers concentrated on the right side of the traffic circle along Eighth Avenue. The streets were walled off with concrete barriers. Wong and Damon were crouched behind one. Taylor and Carlson were looking around the corner of the Museum of Arts and Design at the right side of Broadway. Thomas, Lockhart, Gonzales, and Rogers were spread along the street. Marcus set me down behind a concrete jersey barrier next to the Humvee and set up his rifle beside me.

“Thanks,” I coughed.

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, just give me a minute to set up. I need to find a position that I can aim and not put pressure on my ankle.”

He nodded and returned to face down Broadway.

I looked over the top of the barrier. A huge mob of people was coming straight at us about eight hundred feet away. The crash site was a ways away behind them. The distant orange flicker of the burning helicopter was about just under a mile from us. I sighed, unslinging my rifle. Shuffling up, I crouched and aimed, making sure not to put unnecessary pressure on my ankle. I aimed at the man in the front of the mob, looking through my scope. I noticed he was walking funny. He was shuffling towards us with his arms outstretched. He was unarmed but black bile was oozing from his mouth. Shit, he was one of the sick people. I aimed at another. A man with a rifle in his hands was behind the sick man. Okay, if it came down to it, I’d have to shoot him. I felt my heart drop at the prospect. Was I going to kill again? I gritted my teeth and made a fist.

Suddenly, I felt the deep rumble in the ground like back at the police line. It was deep and this time much stronger. I frowned and turned.

“Ya feel that?”

“Feel what?” Marcus asked.

“That rumblin’? The ground’s shakin’.”

“I don’t feel anything. You okay? You took a nasty fall back there.”

I frowned. Was this another delusion? My lip twitched. First, I heard voices and saw things that weren’t there. Now I was feeling them, too? Fucking goddammit! I banged my head on the Humvee door.

“Morgan? What’s wrong?”

“I—Never mind,” I muttered, slouching back down.

The reality of myself came back to mind. Manhattan was burning and here I was in the middle of this shit storm. I tucked my hand into my pocket for a cig. Oh wait, I forgot; I didn’t have any left. I gritted my teeth as the crackle of gunfire rang overhead. I spotted a helicopter take off from atop the Metropolitan Museum. The next chance I get to get on a helicopter, I’m out of here, fuck fighting this shit. Fuck all of this. The earth shook again and rose in intensity like a crescendo. I looked up to the sky. The fires blazed on and smoke rose. The sky was no longer blue. It was hell red.

  



End file.
